Those You've Known
by The Unicorn Whisperer
Summary: At 21, Sirius Black made an agreement with Dumbledore that would forever change his life. After 6 years, a single event forces him to return to a world that he had left behind and as the risks grow higher Sirius & Harry's lives hang in the balance.
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note: This is an AU that I have been playing around with for about a year before actually sitting down and pounding it out. It began as funny little story and grew into a long and increasingly complicated yarn. Be warned, it manipulates a small bit of Black History but all alterations are necessary and will be well worth it in the end. For now, sit back and enjoy.

Disclaimer: This story contains characters created and owned by J.K. Rowling, Bloomsbury Publishing, Scholastic, Inc. and AOL/Time Warner, Inc., and may incorporate characters, locations and things created and/or owned by other third parties including but not Random House, Pengun Putnam, Inc., Ballantine Books, and a lot of other people. No permission has been given and since no money is being made here, no infringement is intended.

_Though you know you've left them far behind,  
You walk on by yourself and not with them,  
Still you know they fill your heart and mind,   
When you say there's a way through this._

Those You've Known

Spring Awakening

Chapter 1: The Circumstances

He was out of his mind.

And he knew it.

Twenty-four hours ago his entire world had been sent into a tail-spin. Nothing could or would ever be the same again. The life plan he had been following was now as dashed as his mother's finest china.

He fell back against the counter in the tiny kitchenette of his one-bedroom flat. The Formica edge poked the small of his back. He ran a hand through his hair. As his palm brushed his eyelids, they stung as his eyeballs pounded from exhaustion. His nose was stuffed and his head was spinning.

The odds were against him . . . again.

He could still hear his former headmaster's voice, ringing in his ears, telling him in no uncertain terms his options.

"_There are only two ways of going about this, you know. Either he goes to live with his relatives which I believe is the best decision or you may assume responsibility for him." _

"_And if I do?" _

"_Compromises will have to be made." _

"_What sort of compromises?" _

"_You will have to remove yourself almost entirely from your current situation." _

No one thought he could do this. No one thought he was ready for this responsibility. He was only twenty-one. He had barely began to live and now he was on the verge of cashing in his freedom for a—as a friend so eloquently put it—"ball-less chain."

Crumpled in his right hand was a sheet of legal paper with Pro/Con scrawled across the header. The Con side was filled while the Pro was almost blank. A growl surfaced in his throat.

He was inclined to agree with them.

He shouldn't be doing this.

He might as well have "Doom" branded across his forehead.

Many would call him mad if he did. And they were probably right.

He unclenched his right hand and let the paper fluttered to the floor.

It landed face up; the single word under Pro was visible.

He hoped that would be enough.

The residents of Number 204 Barret Court did not seem to fit into the sleepy London suburb of Dale. Although both of them were well-liked by the majority of the community, some just could not shake the feeling that neither were exactly meant to be there. A long running debate was fostered over why the former Londoners moved away from the city three years ago. The most outrageous claim yet was that Mr. Black, the raven haired twenty-eight year old who had captured the heart of every woman from eight to eighty, was in fact some sort of secret agent who was currently in hiding from a notorious crime lord and his dastardly henchmen. Why else would a person of Black's dashing looks and charming personality be content with living such a sedately life the local gossips, better known as 'The Ladies Who Lunched,' wondered.

Of course, Black had his own response to this question: Harry, his seven-year old godson, whom he had taken into custody after the boy was orphaned at just over a year old. Black claimed that after living with Harry in his "minuscule" flat for four years, he had realized that this was no way for the boy to grow up, and thanks in large part to a financial windfall had decided to move out of London and into Dale. This explanation was satisfactory, and the good-humored, handsome Black and the vivacious Harry who was perpetually at Black's side and almost as skilled at melting people's hearts as his godfather, were still favored by even the most ardent gossips.

So it was that the morning of July 16th dawned as inconspicuously as any other. The sunlight crept along throughout the town, rousing drowsy citizens from the pleasure of sleep to the daily grind of work. However, it could not fulfill its job once it passed over the slightly overgrown lawn of Number 204 because the two-story house's elder resident had beaten it by a good twenty minutes.

As he caught the browned bread that had been shot out of the toaster with one hand and pour orange juice with the other before plucking two bowls from the draining board and filling them with dry cereal, Sirius Black still kept the beat with the Rolling Stones' _Street Fighting Man_ that was playing on the radio. All arms and legs, Sirius's almost six-foot-four-inch athletic frame executed the task of making breakfast with the ease of a person who thoroughly enjoyed his particular brand of early morning quiet. Then, quite suddenly, his fluid motion ceased and he became alert as a hound that had just scented a hare. Very slowly, he backed towards the kitchen entrance while counting under his breath.

". . . three, four, five, six, sev—"

A blur of black and scarlet pounced onto Sirius's back, proclaiming, "Good Morning!"

"Morning to you too, runt," said Sirius, leaning forward a bit so that the arms around his neck were not choking him quite so much. "You're getting better at stalking, by the way."

"Really?" asked the small boy, pulling himself higher so that his chin rested on Sirius's shoulder.

"Barely got to seven this time," Sirius replied.

"Brilliant," came the self-satisfied response as Harry slipped down to the floor. Although he shared his godfather's raven colored hair that was where their physical similarities ended. Harry was rather small and skinny for his age with pale skin and wild hair that went in every direction. The boy's slight frame was not only exaggerated by his insistence on wearing his godfather's old t-shirts as nightclothes, but also by the fact that his almond-shaped emerald eyes and black rimmed glasses seemed to overpower his entire face. Only one of Harry's features was more distinctive than his eyes: a strange lightning bolt scar that had marred his forehead for years.

"What are we doing today?" asked Harry, noticing that Sirius was not dressed for work yet and that could only mean good things.

"Haven't decided yet," said Sirius with a grin. "Now, don't get too excited, I'm still on call in case a crisis breaks out."

"It's okay," Harry said quickly. "I like going to the Ministry with you."

"Somehow I don't think that was a completely truthful statement," teased Sirius. He knew full-well that the main reason why Harry never resisted going to work with him was that they always went flying afterwards. Harry lived, breathed, and dreamt flying. He was currently being taught how to stand upright on a broom—a trick Sirius specialized in—and was determined to accomplish it before the summer was out.

Harry only smiled innocently as he slid into a seat. Folding his hands and resting his chin on them, he watched as Sirius continued to make breakfast.

"Think of anything?" Sirius asked, placing a bowl in front of him before taking his own place at the table.

"Uh uh," Harry said, blinking the drowsiness out of his eyes. He still did not feel quite awake yet.

"You okay?" Sirius placed a hand to Harry's forehead. It felt normal enough so he just ruffled Harry's hair as a means of covering up his blatantly overprotective gesture.

"I'm good, really."

"Okay, if you're sur—"

Sirius was cut off by the blaring ring of the telephone. Both of them jumped about a foot at the siren-like sound.

"Who would be ringing us this early?" Sirius mused. Harry shrugged as his godfather went to answer it.

"Hello?"

Harry watched curiously as the color drained from Sirius's face at the sound of the voice on the other end.

"F-father . . . what . . . w-why are you calling me?" stuttered Sirius.

Disbelief swept over Harry. Sirius's father, Orion, hardly ever called them for anything. Truth be told Orion and Sirius did not get along in the least, and could not be in the same room with one another for longer than ten minutes without a fight breaking out. Sirius always said their animosity was because of "stupid adult things" which Remus Lupin, Sirius's best friend, had told Harry what his godfather really meant. While Sirius was a "profoundly liberal pureblood," Orion was much more "fundamentalist." Harry shook his head at the strangeness of it all since Orion had never been anything but kind to him during the few times they had met a year.

" . . . I was just wondering what you had in mind for Harry's birthday," came Orion's dignified voice as Sirius had flicked on the speaker button.

"Er, we don't have any concrete plans at the moment, Father," said Sirius, already exasperated.

"It is only two weeks away, Sirius. You really must learn the finer points of planning."

"We're eleventh hour people," muttered Sirius.

"Excuse me?" came the sharp response.

"Nothing."

"I hate it when you mutter. It's such a juvenile behavior."

Sirius rolled his eyes.

Harry laughed.

"Sirius, are you laughing at me?" his father barked.

Sirius shot Harry an annoyed look as the boy slunk in his seat a little.

"No, Father, I have you on speaker phone so that was Harry you heard laughing."

"Do I even want to know what a speaker phone is?"

"Probably not."

"Then I would like to speak with Harry privately for a moment."

"Mind if I ask why?"

"In fact I do, so kindly turn off the speaker or the phone or whatever worthless Muggle device is allowing this conversation to be broadcast, and give the receiver to Harry."

"My pleasure," Sirius whispered, handing the phone to Harry.

"Hi Orion!" said Harry cheerfully. "Yea—I mean, yes I'm well. How are you? That's good. No, Sirius and I haven't really made any plans yet, but you can come right?" At this point, Harry ignored the frantic hand motions of his godfather. "No, you don't have to clear your schedule, if you have something else to do that's okay . . . oh, sorry, I didn't get the joke . . . so then you're definitely coming? Great."

"Death, Harry . . . slow and painful," Sirius whispered.

Harry just smiled in response.

"Okay, bye Orion. I'll speak to you soon. Oh, do you want to say good-bye to Sirius? Yes, he promises not to mutter anymore. Yes, I agree. He is very childish sometimes. Oh, here, he is," Harry said quickly as Sirius held out a hand for the phone with a long-suffering sigh.

"Traitor," he added to Harry before putting the receiver to his ear. "Yes, Father, it's me. Yes, I know . . . I'll get right on that. Sure, uh huh, aye aye captain . . . sorry, no, no more sarcasm, sir. Ugh . . . I just can't win, can I?"

While his godfather was talking, Harry was about to sit back down when something very unusual happened. The kitchen floor began to tilt beneath him as the temperature in the room seemed to spike unbearably. He reached out to grab the edge of the table but his palms were too sweaty and the glossed wood slipped away. A whistling filled his ears as he felt his body begin to tilt just as the floor had. He felt gravity pulling him down, so much farther down than the floor. He was being pulled away from the pleasant sunlit kitchen into darkness. "Siri," he slurred before the darkness overcame him and his body struck the floor.

Sirius turned, the receiver slipping from his grasp. It clattered to the floor.

"Sirius!" Orion's voice shouted from the phone as the sound of a panicked cry reached his ears. "Sirius, what's wrong? What happened? Sirius, answer me this instant! Sirius!"

Sirius held his head in his hands, gripping his already mussed hair. He had been sitting in an uncomfortable aluminum chair in an antiseptic-scented sterilized hallway for what felt like a hundred hours. No one had told him anything yet, and with every passing minute, the prickly sensation of being watched strengthened. His empty stomach growled as he continued to stare at the floor, all of his frustration bubbling just below the surface.

He looked at his left wrist only to remember a moment too late that he hadn't even put his watch on that morning. It was supposed to be his day to spend with Harry doing whatever they felt like, an all too rare occurrence in their hectic lives.

He swore under his breath as he sat forcefully back in the chair. Its concave back scraped against the wall.

"Lord, help me," he mumbled, now staring at the garish fluorescent light lodged in the ceiling.

Almost on cue, the swinging double doors were pushed open and a person strode into the previously empty hallway. The Divine did not seem to be on Sirius's side today.

Instead of a doctor or a nurse or even a pimply bloke pushing a coffee cart, it was the last person Sirius ever wanted to see. Black hair slicked neatly back, gray eyes flashing, and dressed immaculately in a pristine suit complete with Windsor-knotted tie was Orion Black.

"There you are," snapped his father, his posh accent sounding all the more disdainful. "You do not leave a person on a telephone—the crude Muggle contraption that it is—to fear the worse while you rush off to deal with a crisis, do you understand me? You inform the proper people to deal with the situation, and then you return the person's call who you were speaking with in the first place. You can hardly believe the number of your "friends" I have had the displeasure of speaking with just to find out where you were. Apparently, the only one of them worth his existence is Lupin. Then I felt compelled to dress in these ridiculous clothes rather than burst into this plebian establishment, and be mistaken for a lunatic."

_No chance of that ever happening, _Sirius thought satirically as his father continued his diatribe.

"No one in this supposed facility has the slightest idea of what is happening. I wouldn't be surprised if they did not know that the sun rises in the east considering that it took three nurses to check to see whether or not they had anyone under the name of Black here. You really would have been better off treating him yourself for the collective brainpower in this halfway house."

"Father!" Sirius growled, unable to stand it any longer. "Will you stop for five seconds? Because, while you were picking out suits and actually combing your hair, I have been sitting here all day, worried out of my mind, and I am in no mood whatsoever to humor you. So unless you want me to have you committed, and I am in full power to do so, kindly sit down and shut up."

Astonishment filled Orion's face as he silently sat down on an adjacent chair.

Sirius returned to his bent over position, holding his head in his hands.

They waited.

"They didn't even let me see him," whispered Sirius suddenly. "They just ripped him out of my arms and disappeared. He was still in his pajamas . . . one of my old t-shirts that he somehow got into the habit of wearing. Probably when I started to work nights again . . . he said once that he liked them because they smelled like me . . . so even when I was on a stake-out or something it would still be like I was putting him to bed. Stupid, I know, but . . ."

Sirius fell silent. He could still feel Harry's slight choke hold around his neck from this morning. It had been their tradition for as long as he could remember. The older Harry got, the easier it became for him to leap up onto his back without almost cutting off his godfather's air supply.

"He'll be fine," said Orion, unsuccessfully masking a definite awkward tone. This was not his father's place, and Sirius knew it. He and his father had never had anything close to the relationship he and Harry shared. He wondered if his father even spoke to him until he was six or seven. He couldn't remember.

A door swung open and a man in white coat came out.

"Mr. Black?"

Sirius jumped to his feet as Orion said, "Yes?"

"Which one of you is Harry's father?"

"I am," Sirius said, stepping forward. "I'm his godfather."

"My chart says father," said the man, glancing down at the clipboard he was holding.

"Adopted," Sirius said quickly, he had had this conversation before. "How's Harry?"

"Stable," replied the doctor. "His fever broke an hour ago and his breathing is normal. However, your child did suffer a significant febrile seizure, Mr. Black."

The remaining color drained from Sirius's face.

"What do you mean?"

"Do you know what a febrile seizure is, Mr. Black?"

"Yeah, a lot of children get them. Harry had one when he was thirteen months, but don't they grow out of them?"

"Most do. Harry apparently has not."

Sirius blinked at the patronizing tone in the doctor's voice.

"There does not appear to be any permanent damage but he will have to remain here for several days for observation. Also, neurological tests will need to be administered to be certain that his brain has not sustained any damage as well as a spinal tap. Are you with me, Mr. Black?"

"Yes," said Sirius, his brain still absorbing the information. "When will you be sure that nothing has . . . y'know . . . happened?"

"In a few days, we will know. You shouldn't worry until we run the tests," said the doctor, consulting his chart once again. "He's resting for now. You can go in and see him if you like."

Sirius nodded. "Erm, what if I'd like to spend the night? I mean, I really don't think I could leave him."

The doctor nodded. "I'll see what I can do for you."

"Thank you."

"He's in room eight."

Sirius nodded as the doctor strode off in the opposite direction.

"Orion, are you coming?" he asked, glancing over his shoulder. Orion stood, following his son down the corridor.

Sirius paused outside a butter yellow door with the number eight printed in maroon beside it. His heart began to hammer in his chest as terror flooded his mind of what lay beyond it. What could they have done to his pup? Feeling as though he was about to walk through fire, he pushed down the handle and went inside.

There were two beds in the room, but the one closet to the door was unoccupied. Its curtain was drawn back, revealing the guard-rail accented metal monstrosity with its pitiful mattress. Prisoners are offered more luxury, Sirius thought as he crossed to room.

The curtains were drawn around the second bed, and Sirius could see the outline of machines and an IV as he reached to pull them back. The motion was quick in the manner removing a band-aid was, meant to reduce pain and fear, but still smarting to the point of momentary shock.

Sweat soaked jet black hair stained the pillow, contrasting viciously with swallow skin and yellowish sheets, flesh that was full hours earlier now seemed papery and stretched tight over fragile bones. The smallest movement was a burden for the boy who just that morning had leapt with ease onto his godfather's back. In a voice so soft and hoarse that it made Sirius's heart ache, Harry called his name.

Orion watched as Sirius moved towards the boy. At first he was hesitant, perhaps fighting his own fears about what had happened to the seven-year old. Then his son laid a hand on the boy and a change came over him. His shoulders squared and he was the protector again. Harry sat up slowly, whispering to Sirius. Orion could not make out the words, but whatever was said made Sirius relax. He sat down on the edge of the hospital bed, whispering a reply. The boy smiled, a trace of color returning to his face.

As he continued to watch them a strange sensation came over Orion. He felt as if he was an intruder to them. Despite his concern for Harry, he did not belong in this room. Or in this world. Harry had not even taken notice of him standing into the shadows. No, it would be best if he left the two alone. Sirius clearly had everything under control.

Remus Lupin had known Sirius Black since they were eleven years old and searching for an empty compartment on the Hogwarts Express, and even then he could not fully understand his friend's desire to do everything on his own, especially when things were spinning out of his control.

Yesterday Harry, Sirius's seven-year old godson, had suffered some sort of attack and had to be taken to a Muggle hospital. Remus suppose Sirius's decision to bring Harry to St. Agnes's had been fueled by his agreement with Albus Dumbledore. The only way Dumbledore would have allowed Sirius to keep Harry was if the then twenty-one year old had accepted his terms. Sirius was forced to abandon the Wizarding World—save for his job—and live in the Muggle one. He could not even perform wand magic at home without tripping Dumbledore's alarms. Unfortunately, Dumbledore's conditions were responsible for the third degree Sirius was now facing just a few feet away.

"Remus?" Harry called from behind him.

"Yes?" replied Remus, turning back to the boy and letting the door close behind him.

"What's going on out there?"

"To be perfectly honest, Sirius is being quizzed about his job."

Harry sighed. "Oh no."

Down the corridor, Sirius was trying very hard not to sigh in aggravation as the short Indian man who was apparently overseeing Harry's case absorbed the information he had just relayed to him. He had already explained things to two nurses who he was certain thought him to be mad.

"So let me get this straight," said Dr. Dubey, "you are a single parent and have a government job but no medical insurance."

Sirius nodded, still looking straight into the man's eyes.

"And Harry's pediatrician never found this odd?"

"No," he said shortly.

"Dr. Addler never suggested getting a policy?"

Sirius nodded again. "She understood that due to the complications regarding my line of work such things were impossible."

"This all sounds very . . . _fishy_, Mr. Black. I really would like to know what sort of government occupation denies its employees health care."

"I understand your confusion, doctor, and I'm not trying to be difficult but the nature of my work is quite classified."

Dubey's expression remained skeptical.

"What about public insurance? The National Health Service—"

"Does not cover these kinds of procedures."

"Of course," muttered Sirius.

"Don't blame me for their under funding."

"And which procedure must you do before Harry can be released?"

"We will have to administer a lumbar puncture on Harry."

"Lumbar puncture . . . as in lumbar vertebrae?"

Dubey blinked. He hadn't expected Black to know that.

"Why do you need to investigate Harry's spine?"

"It's not the spine per say. Rather we need to evaluate the cerebrospinal fluid that surrounds the spine and brain."

"For what?"

"To see if experiencing such an intense fever at such an advanced age caused any damage to those areas."

Sirius frowned. "Have you spoken with Harry? He seems fine."

Dubey nodded. "Now he does, but as he grows a problem may appear. You could probably better understand the test as a preventative measure."

"I suppose," said Sirius, growing frustrated with this man's condescension.

"Trust me, Mr. Black; this is a very safe procedure."

"It's inserting a needle into my kid's cerebral column. How safe can it be?" Sirius asked, a sarcastic tinge to his voice.

"So safe that a doctor does not need to do it."

Sirius raised an eyebrow. "What are you saying?"

"I'm just advising you that," said Dubey slowly, "I may now be administering the test but rather one of our medical students will. This is a semi-teaching hospital after all."

It was Sirius's turn to blink. "Wait a second, are you saying that someone is going to shove a needle into my kid's spine and this person is not even a doctor?"

"Well, in your situation, I thought you would be more perceptive—"

"Or a nurse?"

"It is a very safe procedure," Dubey repeated. "The needle will never actually touch any of Harry's nerves."

"If the kid pushes too far it could and then where will we be?" snapped Sirius.

"That's highly unlikely."

"But it is possible and as long as it is, no one but a licensed professional is putting anything near my kid's back."

"I will be observing the student's progress and there's no need to raise your voice," squeaked the man.

"I'm not," said Sirius, keeping himself in check. "There's just no way that a person who probably spent his night boozing it up in the local pub is going to do something like this on _my _kid."

"If you're worried about how Harry may react, we can always sedate him,"

Sirius rolled his eyes. "Oh great, not only are you going to give some medical student a needle but also tranquilizers. Listen, I get what you're doing. You're trying to pull something because my financial situation is not exactly a Rothschild's, but I'm not an idiot and my kid is not going to be a guinea pig. So either a doctor or a nurse does it or no one does. Get it? Got it? Good."

Before Dubey could reply, Sirius turned and walked away.

He entered room eight, still shaking his head in dismay.

"Have a nice chat?" asked Remus, looking up from the game of cards he and Harry had started.

"Wonderful," growled Sirius. "I think I'll be inviting him over for tea any day now."

"Easy there, mate," said Remus. "Got any three-s, Harry?"

"Nope, go fish," Harry replied, looking up at Sirius instead of his cards. Sirius turned away, crossing his arms over his chest. His gaze followed his godfather as he walked to the locked and barred window.

"Drat, this is no help," said Remus, causing Harry to look back at him as he consulted the card he drew. He winked to the boy.

"I think you're going to lose," teased Harry, getting the message.

"Probably. How about Spit? I'm better at that than "Go Fish"."

"Don't know how to play."

"Sirius never taught you?"

"Uh uh."

"All right then, here's how it goes: you start by dividing the cards equally, twenty-six to a player and—"

"Visiting hours are almost up," Sirius interrupted. "If you're not careful you'll be stuck with a thermometer up your—"

"I get the hint," laughed Remus, getting to his feet. "See you later, runt," he added, ruffling Harry's hair.

"Moony!" groaned the boy.

"Good luck, Padfoot," he said, giving Sirius's shoulder a squeeze as he passed.

"Later Moony." Sirius replied as his friend exited, letting the door close behind him.

For a moment there was silence as Sirius stared at the door. Beyond it existed needles, doctors, and nurses none of which were going to be of any help to him.

"Siri, what was the doctor talking about?" Harry whispered; his voice pulling Sirius back to reality.

Sirius shook his head, distracted. He sat on the edge of the bed and took Harry's hand in his.

"You were arguing . . .," Harry said as he let Sirius stretch out his hand. It was tiny in comparison to his godfather's.

"He wants to do a test on you," Sirius explained, "but he wants to let his assistant do it because he needs the practice."

"What sort of test?"

"An important one that I would feel a lot better if someone who was not just a month out of medical school performed it."

"It's not going to be nice, is it?"

"No."

"Siri?"

"Yes, pup?"

"I wish you hadn't told me that."

"Aw, now don't say that," said Sirius, shifting so he could look at Harry. The boy was obviously frightened by the prospect of having one more tube inserted into him. "It'll be fine and I'll be there with you."

"Promise?"

Sirius sighed, "You know my rule about promises."

Harry shot him an exasperated look. "You never make one unless you can keep it."

"Exactly."

Harry's gaze strayed as silence filled the hospital room. It was a sad place, he thought, just the bleeping of the heart monitor, the clattering of the IV stand every time he shifted, the almost quiet, and the not being quite able to move.

"Hey, who's the boss?" Sirius said suddenly, a playful tone returning to his voice.

"It's a democracy," Harry replied automatically.

"Who makes the rules then?"

"We agree on them."

"Who loves you more than anyone could?"

"Easy," Harry smirked. "You do."

"And who would never let anything bad happened to you?"

"You," Harry said, finally believing it.

"Right," Sirius grinned, ruffling Harry's hair.

Margaret Volds had been a nurse at St. Agnes's Hospital for the past three years, and had witnessed her fair share of "Fixtures." They were people, often husbands or wives, who would spend nearly twenty-four hours at the bedside of their ill family member. Yet among the dozens of "Fixtures," none was more unusual than Mr. Black.

The evening, she passed the young man who was sitting in the cushioned chair outside of room 8. His head bent over what looked like a report of some sort. Rumor had it that Black was a government official but his job was so important that he couldn't even tell them straight out what he was. Sitting there in what had been recently tagged as the uniform of the poor, a t-shirt, worn jeans and beat up trainers, with a pencil tucked behind his ear and his mussed hair falling into his eyes, he looked no older than eighteen.

Margaret's mind went back to what the flock around the water cooler had said earlier that day.

"No insurance? With a government job?"

"Ludicrous, inn't? Not to mention, he's a single parent!"

"No mother at all?"

"None."

"No!"

"Yes! Just imagine how the boy's been raised. Poor thing probably doesn't even have a proper bed."

"Or education. With people like Black running around, it's no wonder that this country's going to shite."

Several other nurses chimed in about how Black may not even be the boy's real father. To add to things, if one was to believe Harry was really his son then he would have only been twenty when the boy was born. It was enough to cement their opinions of the man. They saw him as "careless" or "obstinate," but as she watched him work Margaret could not help but feel sympathetic towards Black.

"Hello," he said, startling her.

"Oh, hello," she replied.

"Are you alright?" he asked, putting the pencil down.

"I am, thanks." Margaret was surprised by the posh lilt Black had to his voice. She had been expecting cockney or even a bough.

"Your name is Margaret, isn't it?"

"Yes," she replied, frowning. "How did you know that?"

"Well, aside from the nametag, you perform rounds on the floor where my kid is, and I've been sitting here for the past two days so I thought it would be good to start memorizing some faces."

Margaret found herself smiling at the man.

"It's been pretty quiet so far, hasn't it?"

"I suppose," she said. "How is your son doing?"

"He's sleeping," said Black, relieved.

"He's something," she said, still unsure why she was talking with him.

"Harry? Oh, yeah. You should see him at full speed."

He smiled, turning his attention back to the papers in his lap.

She stepped back. The person who she and the other nurses had believed to be some sort of scamp was not if his looks had anything to do with it. When he smiled, she could see years of breeding showing through.

"I should be moving on," said Margaret after a moment.

"Good night," said Black, smiling again.

"Good night, Sirius."

Sirius pretended to be focused on his work but was really watching as the nurse turned and padded down the corridor. Years of Auror training had taught him to be utterly aware of everything around him especially things that were uttered behind closed doors. She and her fellows all believed him to be some sort of ne'er-do-well who found himself with a kid accidentally. _If only they knew . . . _

Dubey and his laundry list of tests and price tags seemed to be on repeat in his head. As the doctor was reeling the figures off, Sirius could feel his pallor lessening. The cost of the tests was enough but compound that with the hospital fees and Sirius could see himself living off Ramen noodles for a very long time.

"Or I could pull a bank job," he muttered.

"Or sell a vital organ."

Sirius jumped. "Christ, Remus!" he hissed as his best friend appeared beside him. "How did you get in here? Visiting hours are over."

"Just because you are forbidden to Apparate does not mean I am," replied Remus. Also twenty-eight, Remus always seemed to look older than his years. The harsh hospital light he now stood beneath emphasized how his light brown hair was already tending towards grey at the roots and his light blue eyes had a luminary quality about them, but his skin showed evidence of scarring and long days. "Why are you whispering?"

"The walls have ears and stethoscopes."

"Point taken."

"Blast Dumbledore," grumbled Sirius, closing the folder and slipping it back into the messenger bag. "If it wasn't for his rules, I wouldn't be in this situation."

"And you might not have Harry," Remus reminded him as he sat down in the adjacent chair.

"As far as the Ministry is concerned, I don't."

"Their insurance won't carry over, will it?"

Sirius shook his head. "What I am going to do?"

"Well, I don't recommend pulling a bank job," said Remus. "But there must be some way . . ."

"I know but I haven't come up with anything. I guess if I gave up putting petrol in the Jeep and just walked everywhere or sold a kidney. I only need one, don't I?"

Remus frowned.

"Or not."

"You know," began Remus, "there is one option that you haven't considered."

Siirus met his eyes. "Which one is that?"

Remus swallowed. "There's always your fath—"

"No."

"But—"

"I won't."

"Sirius."

"Remus."

"It might be your only option."

Sirius shook his head. "It can't be. And even if it is . . . I have never asked that man for anything since I was sixteen and even then I hated doing it. If I do it now, all I worked for would be lost."

"I understand, Padfoot, but back then you didn't have the same obligations." Remus flinched as Sirius glared at him. "And it might be easier than going back to the Grease Pit payroll and the Ramen diet."

"That would be easier than asking my father," said Sirius with grimaced but even as the words left his mouth he knew that Remus had a point.

If anyone had ever asked Orion Black what he thought of the Muggle world his response would be short and to the point: a nuisance. He had even less patience for Muggle bureaucracy than he had for his own world's. Now, as he was striding through the children's ward of a Muggle hospital, he came to the conclusion that any wizard who preferred this world to the Wizarding was a damned fool. Case in point was his son.

Sirius had never been a model son or certainly could not be considered a true Black by any stretch of the imagination. For as long as Orion could remember, Sirius had been rather soft-hearted by his standards. While Regulus, Orion's second born, had always been quiet and reserved, Sirius was rambunctious to a fault and thought everyone was a friend. When he was young, Sirius would even try to get the house elves to play with him. (One well deserved bite from Kreacher ended that though.) Sirius would not even so much as squash a spider and would reprimand his brother for terrorizing the owls and the neighbors. To make matters worse, the boy's elder cousin Andromeda had turned him bookish and exposed him to other Muggle things. Instead of becoming interested in magical and family history as Regulus had been carefully bred to do, Sirius grew fascinated with whatever Muggle gadget he happened upon. It did not surprise Orion much when he had learnt that his son's closest school friends consisted of a Potter (Muggle-loving family of fools), a young werewolf, a Half-blood, and a Muggle-born girl.

Orion had tolerated Sirius's tendencies throughout the boy's adolescence but when Sirius turned sixteen and was meant to take his place as a member of the Black family, his son resisted to the point of abandonment. The Ancient and Most Noble House of Black rid itself of the blood traitor and Sirius bore the mark of a turncoat. Rumor had it that while training to be an Auror, Sirius was in cahoots with Dumbledore and helped capture many Death Eaters include some of Orion's associates. The Black patriarch had let his eldest son be, expecting him to sooner or later either see the light or be extinguished. But like the cockroach his wife had always penned him as, Sirius survived and became the guardian of the Wizarding World's savior.

The boy was the reason why Orion was now in the hospital. He had unexpectedly grown ill two days ago and Sirius—displaying his usual unBlackish capacity for affection—had not left the boy's side. Upon reaching room eight and seeing that the nearby chair was unoccupied, Orion assumed that Sirius was inside. Letting himself in, he was not disappointed.

The early morning sunlight peaking through the drawn blinds as the room's occupants continued to sleep. Harry, his face unmasked by his glasses, was curled onto his side, while Sirius, his lanky form awkwardly half-seated in a chair and his upper half resting against the side of the bed.

As Orion drew near, he could not help but experience the same sense of intrusion he had felt two days previously.

"Orion?"

The man blinked as Sirius slowly sat up, rubbing his eyes. They bore deep circles.

"I thought you were asleep," Orion whispered.

"Doing so at a right angle isn't recommended," muttered the Auror.

"It's nearly eight."

"In the morning. So what brought you here so early?" Sirius asked as Orion's attention flitted to the remains of Sirius's dinner last night. "Besides your undying love of hospital food, of course."

"Does your sarcasm ever cease?"

"I've yet to find the off switch."

Orion sighed, tapping the toe of his boot.

"Sorry."

"Would you mind accompanying me outside for a moment?"

Sirius shook his head, getting to his feet. His motions were slow as he could feel his muscle exacting their revenge for spending the night twisted like a pretzel. Absently, he brushed Harry's hair away from the boy's eyes as he stepped away.

Orion noticed.

Once they were in the corridor and the door had been shut behind them, Orion turned to his son and cleared his throat.

"Sirius, how are you affording this?" he asked without preamble.

"Huh?" replied Sirius, stunned.

"Sirius, I know as well as you do that your bank account is far from full. And with Harry about to attend a private school, your mortgage, and as well as the necessities such as food and clothing, I do not believe that you can afford this let alone the follow-up well visits that are sure to come."

"Did Remus—"

"Remus? Your friend? I haven't spoken to him since that phone call. Now, am I right or am I wrong in my beliefs that at the moment you are more or less financially uncomfortable?"

Sirius found himself staring very hard at the tiled floor.

"I will accept your silence as conformation, and so I am ready to propose a bargain."

"How do you know that I haven't got this all under control?" Sirius countered.

Orion furrowed his brow. "Clearly, you do not, and your social situation won't win you much sympathy either. I heard the Muggle Prime Minister said something derogatory towards your lot recently, and you'll be living proof if your pride forcing you on welfare."

"I've never—"

"There's a first time for everything. Now, listen to me."

Sirius's gaze returned to the floor.

"So I will gladly take care of Harry's medical expenses in return for a simple action on your part."

"What would that be?"

"Since I am now about to be financially involved in your life, I would like to be actively involved in it as well."

"How?"

"A weekly dinner seems appropriate."

Sirius knew that he would regret his decision sooner rather than later.


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Note: Thank you so much to all my reviewers. Any and all comments are always appreciated. I was particularly amused by how many of you asked if I was a Gilmore Girls fan. The truth is I am a HUGE GG fan, and although I had the idea for this fic before I went back and actually re-watched the first season I was surprised by how similar the situations—particularly for the first four chapters—are to that season. Therefore, I thought it would be fun to draw a few more parallels between my favorite book series and TV show. In honor of the series, I tossed in some lines here and there because Amy Sherman-Palladino is brilliant. So now that all is said and done, enjoy!

Disclaimer: This story contains characters created and owned by J.K. Rowling, Bloomsbury Publishing, Scholastic, Inc. and AOL/Time Warner, Inc., and may incorporate characters, locations and things created and/or owned by other third parties including but not Random House, Penguin Putnam, Inc., Ballantine Books, and a lot of other people. This story also contains lines inspired by the pilot of the WB series Gilmore Girls. They are the property of Amy Sherman-Palladino and I make no claim to them. No permission has been given and since no money is being made here, no infringement is intended.

Chapter 2: The First of Many

_Cold . . . fuck._

_Shivering, Sirius buried his face deeper into his pillow. Goddamn flat . . . goddamn heat always going out. _

_He felt a tug at his t-shirt. "Har'?" he mumbled as the tiny shaking form curled against him, leeching his body warmth. _

_Another shiver rippled through his body as Sirius sat up, squinting in the darkness. He strained to hear the half-hearted buzzing of the dying radiator but there was nothing. "Marsilles has to be the biggest idiot this side of the Atlantic," he snarled, slipping out of bed. He hissed. The floor was freezing. _

_He stumbled about, crashing into a pile of laundry and the doorframe, until he located the radiator. It was icy to the touch. _

_The phone's ring sent him jumping. _

"_Who the hell," he growled, still tripping over his own feet as he hurried to get to the blaring piece of plastic. _

"_Hello?" he all but snapped. _

"_Heat's out," crackled his landlord, Masilles, over the line. _

"_Tell me something I don't know." _

"_Pipes have frozen too." _

"_Oh joy. Anything else?" said Sirius, as he felt his fingers freeze over. _

"_You're back on the rent." _

"_What?!" _

"_And your water." _

"_No I'm—"_

"_And the electric." _

"_Wait a second!" _

"_And you owe me money," said a very different voice. _

_Sirius dropped the phone as Orion materialized out of the receiver. _

"_You're drowning, Sirius," said the robed man. "And you're failing Lily and James."_

"_No, I'm not," Sirius snapped. "I'm fine. I'm—"_

"_A two-bit bartender who thinks he can survive keeping the savior of the Wizarding World a secret," Orion snarled, bearing down upon him. "Dumbledore told you that you could not do this, and he was right," he seemed to grow with every word, "it would be better if he just took the boy away from you."_

"_Harry's fine!" _

"_Harry's freezing . . . you're starving . . . you can't do this."_

"_Get out of here!" Sirius shouted as he jolted awake. _

Sirius shot up in bed, breathing hard, heart pounding. As things came into focus, he was greeted not by the dinginess of his old flat but by familiar slightly messy state of his bedroom. The early morning light was peeking in through the drawn curtains. Beside the window was an armchair that had a fair amount of clothing tossed over its back and a stack of final papers to be graded at its feet. The wall to his right was covered with a built in bookcase that reached from floor to ceiling and housed a mixture of Muggle and Magical literature.

"Lord," he breathed, flopping back down on to the pillows and pulling one over his face to block out the light. A second later a bugle call filled the room as the alarm clock went off.

Pushing the pillow off of his face, Sirius reached out, smacked the off button, and yanked the clock over to him. The digital face read 6:30 in glaring red neon.

"Aw, hell," he groaned again, putting it back on the nightstand and scrambling out of bed. He immediately tripped over the book he had been reading the night before and kicked it under the bed. "Sorry Orwell," he added over his shoulder as he headed out of the room and went downstairs.

As the coffee maker hummed to life, Sirius could not help but remember what had happened in his kitchen four days ago (and what was responsible for his dream). Harry, his godson, had suffered a febrile seizure that had landed the boy in the hospital and Sirius in a state of intense parental anxiety. Because of a decision he had made six years ago, Sirius had been left without any insurance and the balance in his bank account was not exactly suited for medical bills. Then, for reasons that still eluded Sirius, his estrange father, Orion, had stepped in with a checkbook and an offer. Sirius and Harry would have to attend weekly dinners with Orion in exchange for the loan. An arrangement Harry had yet to know about.

_Speaking of Harry, where is he?_ wondered Sirius as he sipped his coffee, the glorious nectar of life that it was. He hadn't heard the slightest foot fall from the boy's room yet, and considering it was adjacent to the kitchen he would have. Putting the cup down, he turned when he caught a blur out of the corner of his eye and he and Harry collided, sending Sirius back against the counter.

"That's one way to wake me up," Sirius laughed as Harry stepped back, shaking the stars out of his eyes.

"You moved," he accused, rubbing his chin.

"You were quiet," Sirius pointed out.

"I was stalking. That's kind of the point."

Sirius raised an eyebrow.

Harry bit his lip.

"That's only a quarter of the equation, and you know it," said Sirius, smirking and reaching behind himself for his coffee. "You up for work today?"

"Yep," Harry said, grabbing two apples out of the bread box and tossing one to Sirius, who caught it left handed. "Show off."

"I try."

"D'you think Moody will be furious or just mad?" asked Harry as he poured a glass of juice.

"Well, I was out three days, so I'm guessing a notch above simply furious but below eye spitting rage."

Harry chuckled. "The last time that happened it zinged around the whole floor like a pinball."

Sirius grimaced. "Let's just hope that doesn't happen again. Now go get dressed before we give Moody any more ammunition."

Harry turned to go back into his room, but paused. "Hey Sir, what ever happened to that guy anyway?"

"Nothing, Diggs is still around."

"Sirius."

Sirius resisted the urge to snicker. "Yes, he still has that indentation on the side of his head where the eye hit him."

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Harry would be the first to admit that his summers were never exactly normal. After all, he highly doubted that any of his classmates would be caught dead spending their precious days of freedom accompanying their parents to work instead of sunbathing, swimming, or sleeping. Then again, most of classmates' parents did not work in the heart of London, and definitely not at the Ministry of Magic.

He followed Sirius as they navigated their way through the sea of not-quite-awake businessmen and women en route to their own high-rises and corporate office plazas. Save for his leather motorcycle jacket, Sirius blended in with his white button down shirt, black slacks, black messenger bag that was slung over his shoulder, and sliver thermos of coffee clutched in one hand. No one would ever bother to notice the slight rise on the underside of Sirius's right forearm where his wand was holstered.

As they went west of Middle Temple, Harry caught sight of his reflection in one of the building windows. He wrinkled his nose at it. With the exception of his irises, the rest of his features had been mutated ever so slightly so that he looked less like himself and more like he shared half of his godfather's chromosomes. His wild black hair had lost some of its wave, his pale skin was several shades darker, his thin face was slightly broader, he now had a ski-jump nose, and his scar was well-hidden.

It wasn't so much that he disliked the way he looked, but the feeling of having his appearance rearranged had yet to wear off. It was not a painless experience. For about half an hour after Sirius cast the charm, Harry felt like someone had pulled his skin too tight and his nose had been squashed. His hair felt lighter and his glasses did not hold their regular position.

Sirius ducked down a shabby alleyway just off of Strand and made a beeline for a row of three dilapidated telephone booths with Out of Order signs posted on them. Each of them had their own purpose. The middle booth was for Visitors while the one to the left was for tour groups and the one to right was for those who lived in the Muggle world and were unable to access the majority of Wizarding transportation. They entered that one. Sirius balanced the receiver between his shoulder and his ear, and dialed seven-two-two-three while placing his wand in the change slot and his right hand on the side of booth. Both the slot and the side glowed a faint blue and a moment later a cool feminine voice spoke, "Sirius Black, Auror Department. Access allowed."

Harry instinctively moved closer to Sirius as he slipped his wand back into its holster. The booth shuddered and with a great grinding noise, the floor below them began to sink. Despite having ridden on the lift for years, Harry could not help but close his eyes. He stayed that way until he could tell that there was a sudden burst of light and the lift jolted to a stop.

Blinking in the bright golden light, Harry followed Sirius out into the cavernous peacock blue entrance hall of the Ministry of Magic. Runes lined the ceiling and the floor and along the far wall was a line of alternating fireplaces and Apparation ports from which a trickling stream of robed wizards and witches appeared. All these sights which were meant to be impressive and overwhelming to visitors were familiar and comforting to Harry. He had spent the majority of his pre-primary school years toddling around the Ministry, more often than not landing in more trouble than he bargained for. Though in his attempts to avoid confrontation with already miffed Ministry employees he would often have to scurry off to another Department before he was caught; and after six years of doing so Harry had reason to believe that he knew the building better than Minister himself.

As they passed the Fountain of Magical Brethren—a creation that Harry never really thought of as beautiful or as awe-inspiring as it was meant to be—several sleepy-eyed wizards called out greetings to Sirius and one witch reached down and patted Harry's head as she hurried towards one of the lifts. By Ministry standards, seven-forty in the morning was still early. Most offices did not open for business until about nine, but certain departments never really closed either.

Along with several airborne interdepartmental memos, they stepped into one of golden lifts and the grille closed behind them, Harry instantly felt more awake. In less than two minutes, he would be at one of his favorite places in the world, Auror Headquarters. He glanced up at Sirius who was leaning against the back wall of the lift, sipping at his coffee with the same amount of attention that a drunk gives his tankard. It took about three cups of coffee for Sirius to achieve complete consciousness, and Harry felt for those who did not know better than to leave his godfather alone until then.

"Level two," intoned the same feminine voice as had spoken on the phone, "Department of Magical Law Enforcement, including the Improper Use of Magic Office, Auror Headquarters, and Wizengamot Administration Services."

They exited the lift, turned a corner, and walked through a pair of large dark wooden doors. They entered a large sunlit room full of cubicles with a lopsided sign hanging off of one identifying the place as "Auror Headquarters."

Harry looked up at the large clock at the very back of the room. It possessed many crooked hands that indicated where each certified Auror was. Most were pointed to "Traveling" while the one with Sirius's name on it as it whirled from "Somewhere in the Ministry" to "Auror Headquarters."

"Pup," Sirius called softly over his shoulder as he reached the back of room. Harry jogged forward to draw alongside him. The back and right walls were lined with offices that belonged to upper level Aurors including the Department Head, Alastor Moody.

Sirius's name was posted in gold lettering outside of door 209 with the words "First Degree Agent, Trainer, & Field Instructor" inscribed beneath it. There was also a message bin beside it that contained a manila folder with a scarlet A on it and a folded piece of parchment. Sirius grabbed them as he twisted the knob and let them inside.

The wood paneled office was about the size of two cubicles that had been joined together. A large dark wooden desk covered with Ministry memos and folders with scarlet As was in the middle of the room. A pair of large file cabinets was on opposite sides of the room. The one to left had drawers labeled: First Years, Second Years, Third Years, and Field while the one to the right was marked with the typical A-Z drawers. The back wall was covered with a large world map marked with different colored pins that shined like jewels and post-it notes. A high backed leather chair was behind the desk and Harry flopped down in one of the two chairs in front of it.

Sirius dropped the folder and note on the desk and slipped out of his jacket before rummaging through his briefcase. He extracted a navy blue outer robe and shook it out. Harry sat up a little straighter as the light reflected off of the silver badge with a raised A and the stripes on the left shoulder. Much like the Muggle military, all Aurors received rankings which could be distinguished by the color and the number of stripes one had. Since Sirius was a First Degree Agent he had three golden ones.

"All right," Sirius said brightly, his morning jolt finally kicking in, "let's see who Moody has bestowed upon me this semester." He flicked open the folder and scanned its contents. "Hmm . . ."

"Anyone interesting?" asked Harry.

"I don't recognize any of the names," Sirius said, closing the folder. "I still need to go through their transcripts of course, but if they got past the entrance exam I'm sure they'll survive their first day." He winked, pulling the robe on.

A shiver of anticipation went down Harry's spine. New recruits were often cocky, ego-swollen, and anxious to prove that they would be the next great Auror. Then they arrived at basic training and things became interesting.

"What about the note?" he asked as Sirius consulted the scrap of parchment.

"Moody wants to meet me here at eight sharp for a discussion," paraphrased Sirius, crumbling the note.

"It's five to."

"Which means there's still time for you to escape and do the rounds."

"Are you sure? It is my fault after all."

"I appreciate the offer," said Sirius fondly, "but I can handle Moody. Don't worry. I'll be in the classroom by the time you get back. Now, scoot."

Harry nodded, getting up and leaving Sirius to face Moody's wrath on his own.

Once outside of Sirius's office, Harry began the task that had been more or less been bequeathed to him ever since he first wandered out of his godfather's sight years ago.

"Kingsley?" he called, poking his head into the nearest cubicle. One of its sides was covered with pictures of wizards who posed international threats while the others were decorated with posters of the Holyhead Harpies and the shapely figure of their captain.

A black bald headed man in scarlet robes turned in his chair and a wide grin spread across his face. "Leo!" he said, swiveling his chair completely around. "Good to see you, kid. I heard you had a pretty tough weekend."

Harry felt his ears redden. "Does everyone know?"

"Aye," said Kingsley. "Moody was up in arms, of course."

"How long did he rant for?"

"A fair amount of time and he ended by forbidding us from ever having children and to ensure that we don't we all have to be either castrated or get our tubes tied, whichever one is most appropriate."

"Brilliant," sighed Harry, hanging his head.

Kingsley smiled fondly at the boy. "I'm sure he was just concerned."

"Yeah and he's going to be conveying all his concern to Dad soon enough," said Harry, complying with the elaborate story Sirius had cooked up years ago. To all but a very select few within the Ministry and the Wizarding community at large, he was not Harry Potter but Leo Black, Sirius's son who had been conceived out of wedlock and Sirius had not known about until his (Leo's) mother died tragically and he was sent to live with his "father."

"Sirius can take of himself," Kingsley assured him. "So, you're doing the rounds?"

"'Course."

"Hang on then." Kingsley turned and wrote down something on a scrap of parchment before handing it to Harry. "Here you are, and see if you can get Sue to actually fill the cup to the top this time."

"I make no promises."

Chuckling, Kingsley reached forward and gave the boy a playful shove. "Get going and let some of us work."

"Work? Is that what you do here?" Harry teased, starting to leave. "I thought you just ogled Gwenog Jones."

Kingsley's jaw dropped. "More like your father everyday!" he shouted after the boy.

Heads popped up out of various cubicles as Harry walked passed. Cries "Hi Leo!" usually followed by "Please tell me you're doing rounds?" echoed from all sides of the room as Harry dutifully collected bits of parchment and continued on his way towards the lift. It was gradually making its way to the second floor so he began to thumb through them again. Since he was trying to figure whether Moseby had written "scone" or "danish" (it was the tendency of Aurors to have less than easily decipherable handwriting), Harry did not notice the doors opened and a group of about twelve teenagers exited. They all wore expressions of anxious excitement. One thin boy with spiky brown hair was talking animatedly to no one in particular.

"Well, I have Black for Intro and apparently he's the youngest Trainer ever certified so I suppose he's decent. I expect to do only two years of actual study," he boosted, not looking where he was going. "I know they told us three, but the best recruits often use their third year exclusively as a field year and—oof!"

Harry stumbled back, the scraps of parchment slipping from his hand. "Hey!"

The boy looked dumbly down his long nose at him. "What's a midget doing here?"

"Er," Harry mumbled, collecting the papers. "I'm not—"

"Are you lost?" asked one of the girls in an overly-inquisitive tone.

"No," Harry tried again. "I just have to get to the lift."

"What's this?" asked the brown-haired boy, crouching and picking up one of the scraps. "Orders?"

Harry swiped it away from him.

"Then you must be a furry house-elf," said the boy, straightening. "Of course Aurors would have house-elves."

"Actually—"

"Hey Furry, since you're heading out anyway," said the boy cockily, "pick me up a quarter caf'."

"A what?" Harry sputtered.

"A quarter caffeinated cup of coffee," said the boy slowly as if he was speaking to a practically thick two-year old.

Harry frowned. "What's the rest of it then?"

The boy continued to speak slowly, "Two fourths is decaf and one fourth is espresso and the other fourth is regular coffee."

"And I four-fourths don't care," Harry said, trying to get by.

The boy laughed imperiously. "Of course you do, Furry. Don't you know who I am? I'm one of the new Aurors."

Harry fought down the urge to laugh in his face. Instead, he replied in a squeaky voice, "Oh, I wasn't aware, sirs. Then, of course I will get that just for you. Pardon me," he said, finally slipping past.

Then the boy said loudly as Harry stepped into the lift, "You just have to know how to deal with these dumb creatures."

_My sentiments exactly, _thought Harry deviously.

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By eight o' clock the Ministry was abuzz with activity. Enchanted paper airplane memos zoomed through the air so thickly that one would have thought the ceiling to be white. Harried witches and wizards rushed to and fro, wands whizzed through the air, and occasionally a broomstick (if you happened to end up near the Department of International Games and Sports.) However, the more interesting aspects of the Ministry—its employees—often kept their own departments. There were only two ways of ever seeing all or at least most of them and they were to either finagle one's way into each place or to spend time on level one. On that level there was a small dining café where all manner of strange folk could be found.

Crammed with chintz tables with purple clothes that were embellished with Ministry seals and a wood topped bar that ran nearly the length of the room, the Café was managed and operated by a petite blonde witch by the name of Sue Kim. At the moment, she was busying herself with cleaning a particularly spotty coffee pot.

"Rotten, lousy, worthless piece of crap," grumbled Sue, scrubbing at the glass.

Harry scrambled up onto one of the stools and rested his elbows on the bar, waiting to be acknowledged.

"For all the magic in this God forsaken government," continued the barmaid as she got her hand stuck in the pot, "no one can come up with a decent cleaning spell for coffee stains." She freed her hand as she added, "Yes, Leo, I see you there so you can stop staring."

"Morning Sue," said Harry, brightly.

"What do you need?"

"I was going to say coffee but," Harry nodded towards the offending pot.

Sue rolled her eyes. "I'll just _Scourgify _it and no one will say a word, right?"

"Right," Harry agreed, handing Sue the scraps of paper.

She flicked through them quickly. "What would happen if one day I didn't supply the Aurors with their breakfast?"

"They'd eat me."

Sue paused, wand raised, to stare at the boy in shock.

Harry shrugged. "Not that I want them to try anytime soon."

Sue rolled her eyes and made to swat at the boy with the papers. "Has anyone ever told you that you're just like your father sometimes? Even if you two look nothing alike."

"Only about a billion times," said Harry, slouching.

While Sue got the Aurors' orders together, Harry leaned to the left trying to get a look at himself in the mirrors behind the bar. Sue was right that, despite the charms, Harry still looked hardly anything like Sirius. The only thing that was similar between them really was their hair color.

"Well, if it isn't Black Redux," whispered someone into his ear.

Harry whirled around and nearly ran into a square-jawed man with a thatch of straw colored hair who was holding a clip board. "Charlie!"

"Long time, no see," said Charlie with a wide grin. He was clad in the pale blue robes with gold patterns around the hems denoting that he is a Runes Specialist.

"I got sick," Harry shrugged.

"I know," he said with a wink. "I got the pleasure of reporting it Moody. Still haven't got the hearing back in my left ear."

"Sorry," said Harry as Charlie waved the apology off.

"So, Susan, fairest of the fair," Charlie began charmingly, leaning on the bar, "what are my chances of getting a blueberry muffin lightly toasted?"

"Pretty decent; after I deal with these orders," she replied flatly, picking up the last piece of parchment. "Did the recruits come into today, Leo?"

"What gave it away?" smirked the boy, his emerald eyes sparkling.

Charlie laughed knowingly. "Sirius has some of them for Intro, doesn't he?"

"Yes, they just need to have their heads deflated a bit though."

"And you're holding the pin?" asked Charlie, flipping through his notes.

"Call it a civic duty."

"Sure it is. Oh, I was going to check something with Sirius before but Moody was in there."

"Was Moody mad?"

"Is he ever not?" Charlie pointed out.

"Oh, right," said Harry, downcast.

Charlie was still regarding his papers for a moment before pulling a few out and handing them to Harry. "Do me a favor, and give these scans to Sirius. I just need to double check the recorded data before passing them off and he's better at Elvish than I am. Thanks, kiddo."

Harry folded up the papers and tucked them into his back pocket. "Ten-four," he said as Sue capped the last mochachino.

"Eventually, the Aurors are going to have to pay their tabs," she sighed, indicating the fourteen brown bags and twenty-one Styrofoam coffee cups.

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"You have all been accepted into the Training program, congratulations."

Twelve fresh-faced eager young adults, all clad in plain black robes, craned their necks forward as Sirius Black walked the length of the classroom.

"That," continued Sirius as he withdrew a pocket knife and began to flick it open and closed, "was the easy part."

There was a soft chuckle.

"From this moment on, all your academic accomplishments are null and void. You are not here because you can regurgitate facts or memorize spells out of the Standard Book, and if that is how you've been getting along I suggest you exit swiftly and silently."

"Velasquez, Bridget," he barked to a frizzy haired girl in the front. She straightened; wide-eyed. "Catch." He tossed her his wand.

As she reached for it, Sirius's knife spiraled across the room, stopping mid-air with its gleaming pointed tip mere centimeters from a dark haired boy's right eyeball. It happened so fast that it was incomprehensible.

"Anticipation and awareness," said Sirius, his eyes focused, "and learning them are vital components of this class. Thank you, Mr. Alcov for demonstrating what could happen it one is unable to implement either." The knife zoomed back into Sirius's hand. "And thank you, Ms. Velasquez, for catching my wand."

Velasquez watched dumbfounded as the wand also returned to Sirius.

He plucked it from the air and tucked it behind his ear. "Now before you . . .," Sirius trailed off as the door opened and Harry entered with a container that had two steaming cups remaining floating behind him.

There was a flurry of confused looks among the students.

"Oy, it's the furry house elf," said the brown haired boy from earlier.

"The "furry house elf" as you call him, Mr. Collins, is my son," said Sirius as he accepted one of the cups and the papers from Harry. "Who's the other one for?"

"Him," replied Harry, pointing to Collins. He walked over and gave him the cup. "One quarter-caf'."

"Riiiight," said Sirius. "Come here, Leo, we best get this over with now. Turn 'round."

Harry turned, appraising the fairly bewildered mixture before him as Sirius began the speech.

"Ladies and gentlemen, this is Leo," explained Sirius. "He's seven going on forty seven, and you're going to see him probably more often than you will even see me. Now don't think that he is a means for you passing or failing this course. So buttering Leo up will not help, and as for the other possibility . . . you cross him at your own peril as Mr. Collins is realizing."

There was a yelp and sputtering as Collins dropped his coffee, trying to spit the liquid out. "Hot! Hot!" he howled, scrambling for his wand. He squirted water straight into his mouth and thoroughly soaking himself.

"So was it flaming pepper in the coffee?" tried Sirius.

"With a little Tabasco for texture," added Harry, smirking.

"That's my boy," Sirius said as the class broke out into laughter.

"Right then," said Sirius when the clock chimed three, "tonight I'd like you to read chapters one through three in your text and begin the preliminary worksheets. Don't groan, you have to crawl before you can walk. Have a nice evening and see you tomorrow."

As the class began to file out, Harry got up from behind the desk where he had been reading while Sirius went through the usual first day procedures with the Trainees.

"Oy, Furry!" said Collins, pausing.

"Hey Collins," Harry said, walking over to him. "Er, sorry about the coffee."

"It's alright," Collins said, looking Harry up and down. "Sorry about calling you a house elf. I didn't know you were Black's kid."

"It's okay; you don't expect to see kids around Auror Headquarters," Harry said with a shrug. "And I'll forgive you this time, just don't underestimate me again."

Collins smirked. "You're a pretty smart one, aren't you?"

"I'd like to think so," Harry replied, matching the young man's smirk.

"Leo," Sirius called, waiting by the door.

"Coming," said Harry before turning back to Collins. "I'll be seeing you around then?"

"As long as your dad doesn't throw me out," said Collins. "See you, Leo!"

Satisfied, Harry nodded before joining to Sirius who slung an arm around the boy's shoulders and led him out into the corridor.

"Collins is alright, don't you think?" asked Harry as they turned a corner.

"He seems eager to prove himself. We'll have to see."

"That's very teacher-ly of you," Harry commented while Sirius ruffled his hair. "Dad!"

Sirius quirked an eyebrow at him. "So," he began, his eyes taking on a sparkle, "since it's only three and since you're completely recovered, pup, what do you say to a little flying?"

88888888

One of the interesting features about the Ministry of Magic was that in order to help wizards feel more comfortable about being hundreds of meters underground there were indoor areas fashioned to simulate the above ground including a small Quidditch pitch. It was open to all employees but was often frequented by the Department of Magical Games and Sports save for one Auror.

"Okay, now push yourself up," Sirius called as Harry flew above him in a circle.

Harry nodded, clutching the handle of the broom tightly and using it to help push his lower body up much like a surfer would. His feet came up onto the shaft of the broom.

"Now try to stand."

Harry did as he was told but could feel the broom begin to shift below him as it took a corner. "No! No!" he shouted, trying to fall forward but slipping off. "Sir!"

Sirius leapt forward, catching him with a shout of "Gotcha!" as they tumbled across the turf field. Harry

ended up pinning Sirius.

"I win," he grinned.

"I could have just let you fall," Sirius reminded him, "and then you'd be just a little fleshy colored blob."

"Because all my bones and organs would dissolve upon impact?" asked Harry, sitting up onto Sirius's abdomen.

"Oof, yes," replied his godfather. "It's entirely possible."

Harry shook his head. "Sure, Dad, whatever you say."

"Exactly, and as soon as you get off of me I will—"

"Show me how to do the move again?"

"Leo," Sirius said in his patented parental voice. "You'll never learn if you don't keep trying it yourself."

"Please, Dad?" Harry asked with his equally patented 'I'm so adorable, how can you say no?' look.

Sirius sighed, sitting up. "All right but this is the last time."

Harry scrambled off of him as Sirius stood and whistled for the Nimbus 1400. For its age, it was still a good model and could easily outstrip one of the new Comet 180s. Sirius had had it since before Harry was born, and it was the broom that Harry first learned to ride on. The more advanced the boy became, however, obvious problems arose. In this case, the fact that the broom had been bought for a person of Sirius's considerable height and Harry was just over half of it, and therefore more than difficult for the boy to master tricks on.

Sirius mounted and kicked off, the broom rising faster with him than it ever did with Harry. The boy had it

on good authority (namely Remus) that Sirius had tailored the broom to know by weight whom was riding it and adjust itself accordingly. Still he watched intently as Sirius leveled the broom while simultaneously pushing himself upright until he was standing on the shaft and riding it like a surfboard. He circled the pitch that way, occasionally resting his hands on his hip and reminding Harry of a drawing he had once seen of Peter Pan.

"You make it look so easy," he only half-sighed as Sirius brought the broom a little lower.

"It just takes practice, pup."

"I don't like falling through."

"No one does," agreed Sirius as he applied more pressure until the broom was only about a meter off of the ground. "Halt," he commanded. The broom obeyed. "Your turn."

"What did Moody say to you before?" asked Harry, still sitting on the turf.

"Nothing, just the usual 'children are not an adequate excuse' and 'I should forbid my Aurors from ever reproducing' speech," said Sirius, jumping down.

"Charlie said he was shouting."

"When does Moody ever not shout?"

"True, but he doesn't like me much, does he?" Harry said while mounting the broom again and kicking off.

Sirius laughed shortly. "Moody likes you fine, runt. You know how he is; he has difficulty expressing himself at a normal volume."

"Like Orion, huh?" said Harry as he came out of a short dive.

"Er . . . it's funny that you mention Orion," Sirius began, "because we might be seeing him on Friday."

"This Friday? As in tomorrow? Why?"

"We're . . . well . . . we're paying him a visit."

Harry pulled the broom to a halt. "We're what?"

"Visiting Orion," Sirius said, his throat suddenly feeling very dry.

It was Harry's turn to frown. "But there isn't any holiday in July," he said, coming in to land. "This isn't a holiday visit, I just thought it would be," Sirius searched from an appropriate word, "_considerate _since he came to see you last week."

"He did?"

Sirius nodded. "You were asleep when he came, but he did."

Harry shrugged and dismounted. "I don't see why we have to go though. Does Orion want us to come? I mean, you and him don't exactly . . . get along. Besides, Grimmauld Place is creepy."

"I can stomach him for one night and it isn't that creepy."

Harry was still not convinced. "So we're just going without a reason?"

"No there's a reason."

"What is it?"

"Does it matter?" Sirius shrugged, his voice coming out harsher than he had meant. "We're sort of stuck here," he continued in his usual voice.

"I know," said Harry softly, "but I was just curious."

Sirius looked down at Harry, the boy's eyes searching his for a reason. He opened his mouth to explain but the words refused to come out. For over a decade, Sirius had been completely self-sufficient and Harry had never been for want of anything the boy needed. Harry knew that things had been tight at times, but they had always managed. Sirius knew Harry thought his godfather to be invincible and to admit to his godson that he was now indebted to Orion was not something he looked forward to doing and especially not in the middle of the Ministry of Magic.

"Because it's the polite thing to do," Sirius replied with lame finality.

888888888

"You told Harry that it was the polite thing to do?" repeated Remus incredulously that evening. He was standing in Sirius's kitchen and had just been informed of his friend's new financial situation.

"What else was I supposed to say?" said Sirius in an undertone.

"The truth might have been preferable."

Sirius busied himself with the contents of the refrigerator. "Why is there never any food in this house?" he asked, looking through it. "Neither of us eat that much. This thing should be full."

"Sirius, don't change the subject. Why didn't you just tell him?"

"For someone who invited himself over, you ask a lot of questions." Sirius straightened. "All right, we're stuck with ordering pizza for dinner. Any preference?"

Remus frowned at his friend. "Yes, for you to tell Harry what's going on with Orion. You will be going over there every week for the foreseeable future, won't you?"

"Yes," said Sirius grudgingly. "I have been trying not to think about that, thanks."

"So you're lying to him?"

"I'm not lying to him," Sirius was quick to respond. "I'm just omitting various details."

"Sounds like lying from where I'm standing."

"You could always move," said Sirius wryly.

"Not to mention that Harry's bound to pick up on something. He's such a smart kid; I'm surprised he hasn't asked you already."

Sirius groaned. "Actually I'm beginning to wish that he was thick as a post."

Remus laughed. "Well, the only person you have to blame there is yourself, Padfoot."

"Why me?"

"Because you're the one who is raising him," said Remus, amused. "We both know that he's never had anything dumbed down for him in his life."

Sirius's expression deepened in confusion.

"I just mean that he's had to keep up with you which is easier said than done," Remus explained. "Have faith in your godson."

"It's not that simple, Moony," said Sirius. "It's not just my pride that's keeping me from telling him."

"Then what is?"

Sirius closed his eyes. "You have no idea what it's like to be in that house."

"Sirius?"

"It sucks every happy feeling, every good memory out of you," said Sirius in a flat voice. "I hate that house and everything it stands for."

"Then why did you agree to this?"

Sirius nodded towards Harry's bedroom door. "Because some things are more important than that."

88888888

Harry was beginning to dislike Sirius's sudden obsession with politeness by the following evening. Sirius had spent the drive compulsively straightening his collar and trying to flatten Harry's hair, or reminding him not to speak out of turn, that this wasn't their house and that they had to respect Orion's beliefs about children's behavior. Now as the pair of them stood outside of the blacken door of Number 12 Grimmauld Place, staring at the serpentine knocker, Sirius was still and silent.

"Should I ring the bell?" Harry offered but Sirius glared at him. The boy sighed. All day his godfather had been acting rather uptight.

Sirius took a breath, summoning whatever willpower he had, and lifted the knocker.

Two taps was all it took before the door opened of its own accord to let them enter into the dark foyer. Sirius led the way, shrugging off his leather motorcycle jacket at he went. The troll-footed coat rack tottered over to him and extended one of its hooks.

"Welcome to the Noble of Most Ancient House of Black," said a deep voice from somewhere nearer to Harry's eye level. The speaker was a small creature with bat-like ears and skin that looked like waterlogged leather. It wore a dark green tunic with the Black crest stitched upon it. "Your presence is most . . .," the creature trailed off as it looked at them. "Oh, it's you," it said, its voice losing all semblance of formality and becoming haughty.

"Hello Kreacher," Sirius said, fighting the urge to curse the house-elf. "Orion is expecting us."

"You brought the mongrel," observed Kreacher, pointing a gnarled finger at Harry. The boy instinctively ducked behind Sirius. "You are not supposed to enter this House, blood traitor, and certainly not bring that abomination here. If my Mistress knew of that before her death, she would have seen that it was drowned."

"Pity she didn't take you to the grave with her," Sirius sneered, his right hand going for his wand.

"You ungrateful—"

Kreacher's retort was cut off by Orion who had stepped up behind him. "Kreacher, you know better than to leave guests in the foyer for longer than a minute," drawled the wizard who was clad in crisp dark green robes. "Punish yourself while we have drinks in the lounge."

"Yes Master," squeaked the house-elf as it hurried off.

"Perhaps it is time for a new one," Sirius muttered.

"No," said Orion sharply, "he's a perfectly good house-elf. He just does not like the idea of you being here, Sirius. He has his reasons though. I gather you don't like being here much either? You could not even bother to wear proper dress robes."

Sirius looked down at his trousers and white Oxford shirt. He hadn't bought dress robes in years. "Actually—"

"Don't bother explaining yourself," sighed Orion, turning to lead them into the house.

Sirius exhaled disgustedly. He glanced down at Harry who backed hopefully toward the door. He shook his head and followed Orion.

Like the majority of the house, the lounge with its green couches and blood red tapestries had remained exactly the same for all of Sirius's life. Sirius even wondered if the decanters on the beverage cart had ever been rearranged.

"Take a seat," instructed Orion. "What can I get you to drink?"

"Scotch is fine," said Sirius, who knew better than to ask for anything else. Like all men of a certain social standing, Orion judged his company by their choice of liquor. According to Orion, Firewhiskey was for alcoholics and beer was nitwit juice.

"Right and Harry, would you like pumpkin juice or water?"

"Water's fine," said Harry, unsure of what pumpkin juice was. Orion paused, waiting for him. "Thank you," he added hastily.

Orion passed them their drinks before sitting across from them in an armchair. Silence filled the room to a suffocating degree. Harry was fighting the urge to fidget while Sirius sipped at his scotch.

"You're looking better, Harry," said Orion stiffly.

"I am, thanks," replied Harry. He then looked to Sirius but he was staring determinedly at a spot on the wall behind Orion. He glanced back to Orion who was apparently doing the same with the opposite wall. He sighed, putting his chin in his free hand. It was difficult being the mature one.

"I heard that you will be attending Brilhante in the fall," said Orion in another attempt to stir conversation. "That is a very renowned Muggle institution, isn't it?"

Harry nodded. "It's on a scholarship," he said softly.

"That is wonderful," said Orion. "After all, an education is the most important thing in life next to family."

"And pie," Sirius said without thinking. It was enough to cause Harry to snort into his water glass and for Orion to be perplexed.

"Yes, what's life without pie?" Harry snickered.

"A sad dessert-less void," grinned Sirius before catching Orion's stony expression. "It's was a joke."

Orion shook his head at them.

Sirius and Harry looked at each other knowingly.

Rubbing his temples with one hand, Orion consulted his pocket watch with the other. "Dinner should be prepared by now, follow me."

8888888

Sirius pushed some sort of unidentifiable green bean around his plate (the china had the Black crest emblazon across it.) They had been eating in silence for the past twenty minutes and it was driving him mad.

"Harry, how do you like the lamb?" Orion asked.

"It's different," answered the boy honestly. "But I like it."

"Potatoes could use a little salt though," Sirius mentioned.

"Excuse me?" Orion said sharply.

"Never mind, so how are things for the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black?"

"As well as could be expected. Though you never really were interested in the financial status if I remember right that was your brother."

"Oh, right," Sirius sighed.

"No need to get sulky, Sirius," admonished Orion. "It is simply fact that Regulus was more interested in financial and historical affairs of this House than you ever were. You were always holed up in the library with some ridiculous novel when you should have been doing lessons. Thankfully, Harry does not seem to have adopted any of those habits."

Sirius turned his attention back to his plate.

"I think he's brilliant," Harry said quietly.

"That is very kind, Harry," said Orion before turning to Sirius. "But I'm sure that Sirius's natural ability to embellish has painted his childhood in a much more Dickensian light than it really was. After all, he did choose a life slinging hash in a Muggle slum to this house."

Sirius could not glare at his plate any longer. "Excuse me," he said, getting up. "I'm going to get a Coke . . . or a knife." He disappeared through a swinging door into the kitchen.

Harry's eyes grew wide and he looked to Orion.

"I will see, Harry," Orion sighed, getting up. "No, stay here and finish your dinner. I'll be back shortly."

Kreacher stared at Sirius with his goggley eyes as the de facto heir to the Ancient Black line stood, hunched over the sink, and scrubbing at the salad bowl with more vigor than was necessary.

"What!" he barked at the elf.

Kreacher wisely retreated.

"Sirius, come back to the table," Orion said, storming into the kitchen. He noticed what Sirius was doing. "Or do you feel more comfortable in your natural habitat."

"Is this what it's going to be every Friday? I come over and let you attack me?"

"Attack you? I did no such thing!"

"Why did you have to bring up my life here?"

"I don't see how that can be considered attacking you when all I am stating is the truth? Not to mention that Harry is worried about you. Really, why you would need a knife when one was already at your place? Sometimes, Sirius, I wonder if I should be the one raising him."

That did it.

Sirius dropped the dish, seething. "Leave Harry out of this!" he snarled. "And then tell me why you had to bring up Regulus as well? Wasn't it enough that he nearly killed me? Or that he was happy being a minion while I was saving dozens of people's lives? Oh, and in case you haven't noticed I am pretty damn good at taking care of my kid."

"Oh, so he's your child is he?" Orion sneered. "He's more of the world's child you know. You can't keep him hidden forever. One day the world will want its savior and there will be nothing you can do to stop them."

Sirius's eyes flashed.

Orion continued, "Not to mention you're brother didn't know what he was doing at the time and you know it."

Sirius rolled his eyes. "Come off it, Orion. How could Regulus not know what he was doing? I knew what I was doing when I was sixteen."

"Oh yes, you ran away from home and started waiting tables in some Muggle pub. Very well thought out life choices," muttered Orion.

"You banished me and that was a decent job," Sirius shot back. "It paid the rent while I trained to become an Auror."

"Yes, and you slept on the floor until Alphard took pity on you and threw you some gold."

"I never asked him for—"

"Oh, I know you didn't ask him for help. You were always too proud to ask anyone for help. Tell me, Sirius, what else did you do for money during those years? Be promoted to bartender?"

"At least I wasn't licking Voldemort's boots—"

"Not everyone is as saintly as you, Sirius."

"Then don't insult me," Sirius said firmly. "And as far as I'm concerned Harry is my child, and you know as well as I do that we have a good life without any help from anyone."

Orion glowered at his son. "Then how come you needed my assistance to pay for your child's medical bills?"

In the dining room, Harry jerked his head up, not believing what he had just heard.

"Well, at least you can no longer call me too proud for my own good then!"

"Enough!" Orion shouted. "Fine, you may not be too proud to accept my help, but you are still too proud to let Harry know where you got it from aren't you? Don't lie to me, Sirius. The poor boy clearly has no idea why the both of you are here."

Sirius remained silent.

"Well, fine, you have your precious pride and I have my weekly dinners. Isn't that nice? We both win. Now, let us conclude this one before your child begins to suspect something."

Sirius nodded. Drying his hands he pushed back through the door to see Harry sitting there with his head bent over his plate. He suddenly wished that the world would open up beneath him and swallow him whole.

888888

Later that evening, Sirius knocked on Harry's bedroom door. "Harry, can I talk to you for a second?"

There was no response.

Shaking his head, Sirius opened it and peered inside. The lamp on the bedside table had been left on dim, and Harry appeared to be sleeping with his back turned to him. He slipped inside, making his way past the cluttered desk and bookshelf to Harry's bedside. He turned the lamp up a little, causing the deep sky blue color to return to the walls.

"Harry-pup," he whispered, sitting on the edge of the bed and placing a hand on the boy's back. "Come on, pup, wake up. We have to talk."

"'Bout what?"

"_Ab_out dinner tonight," said Sirius. "It wasn't exactly . . . _civil_."

"Why didn't you tell me that Orion was giving you money?" came Harry's soft voice but the boy did not turn to face his godfather.

"I didn't want you to worry," Sirius replied.

"Are we in trouble?" asked Harry abruptly. "Real trouble?"

Sirius frowned. "No, of course we're not. What gave you that idea?"

"Nothing," Harry mumbled, curling away from Sirius's touch.

"Harry?"

"It's nothing." Harry kept his back was to Sirius. He could feel his godfather's eyes on him though, waiting. A moment of silence passed before he began, in an unsteady voice, "There was this boy in my class, Terrence, who lived with only his dad too. In the middle of the year, he started missing classes or coming in looking sick. We found out that his dad had lost his job. The government took him away from his dad and put him with relatives across the country."

Sirius laid a hand on Harry's back again and the boy did not shy away. "I don't completely understand what you're getting at."

"Could that have happened to us if Orion hadn't given you money?"

Sirius did not reply immediately. A part of him was surprised that Harry had considered such consequences even if his reasoning was a bit out of proportion. Lately, the government had begun to crack down on single-parents, declaring them to be an infectious drain on society and citing single fathers as perhaps the most harmful. It was utter hogwash as far as Sirius was concerned but there would always be those people who refused to accept anything different from the norm.

"Siri?" Harry turned to face him. "Could it?"

Sirius could not help but smile softly, running a hand through Harry's hair. "No," he said firmly. "That will never happen to us."

"But Orion is paying—"

"Orion offered to help me out for the moment and I accepted," Sirius corrected. "It was my decision, and I would have gladly made it several times over if it meant you would be safe."

"If I hadn't gotten sick though none of this would have happened," Harry pointed out.

"Don't go blaming yourself now," Sirius chided gently. "You can't control when you get sick anymore than I can. I'm just glad you're better."

Harry was still not at ease. "What if someone finds out and tries to—"

Sirius shook his head. "Nothing," he said in his most assuring voice, "will ever separate us, Harry. Nothing."

"Do you swear?" asked the boy, a tremor of urgency in his voice.

"I promise," Sirius replied.

Harry's eyes widened momentarily—Sirius never made a promise unless he could keep it—before the boy settled back against the pillows.

"That is," Sirius said playfully, "as long as you promise that you will never black out before breakfast again. After breakfast I can handle it, but not before."

"I'll promise to try not to," Harry offered.

"Good deal," agreed his godfather who also leaned back against the pillows. "You know, I never realized how comfy your bed is before."

"Oh no," groaned Harry as Sirius put an arm around his shoulders.

"Honestly, just soft enough to give but not too soft and good pillow to mattress ratio. Nice down comforter too." Sirius scrunched lower, getting comfortable on the bed. "And with my bed all the way upstairs and this one almost completely free." He ran his fingers along Harry's side, tickling him.

"No! No!" squirmed Harry, unsuccessfully trying to get out of Sirius's reach. "Stop! Stop! Please!"

"Nah," Sirius mocked, increasing his attack.

"Uncle!" shouted Harry. "Uncle!"

Sirius stopped with a sigh of, "Wimp."

"Siri," panted Harry, burying his face in Sirius's side, "you're so annoying."

"I think you mean charming."

"No, you're annoying."

"How about lovable?"

"Exhausting."

"At least entertaining?"

"Good night, Sirius," said Harry through a yawn.

"'Night Harry."

The lamp extinguished itself.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: This story contains characters created and owned by J.K. Rowling, Bloomsbury Publishing, Scholastic, Inc. and AOL/Time Warner, Inc., and may incorporate characters, locations and things created and/or owned by other third parties including but not Random House, Penguin Putnam, Inc., Ballantine Books, and a lot of other people. This story also contains lines inspired by episode Six of the First Season of the WB series Gilmore Girls. They are the property of Amy Sherman-Palladino and I make no claim to them. No permission has been given and since no money is being made here, no infringement is intended.

**Chapter 3: Two Steps Forward, Three Steps Back **

A black and golden spiraling disk sailed through the air, arcing majestically over the picket fence before colliding spectacularly with a bearded dwarf in a blue and yellow waistcoat. It ricocheted off of the dwarf, across the lawn, and into a shut window before it finally landed mere millimeters from a pair of faded white house slippers.

"Sirius Black!" shouted a piercing voice.

Sirius winched as a he dropped to the ground.

"Good job, Sirius," muttered Harry, doing the same. "Miss Julie is going to _murder_ you."

"You were supposed to catch it."

"I can't jump that high. I'm not a frog."

"I was hoping."

"Sirius _and _Harry Black," called Miss Julie again. "I know you're there so don't bother hiding."

Sighing, they peered over the fence to see her clutching the Frisbee in one hand and waving it a bit like a fan.

"You're both going to have to come closer than that," she said, shaking her head at them.

Sirius stood, silently regretting the fact that he was indeed the adult. "Hey Julie," he said charmingly. "Aren't you looking wonderful this evening, is that a new shawl?"

Miss Julie merely stared at him through her bejeweled oblong glasses. "Might I ask how am I supposed to coach the newest Chopin from his or her current obscurity to superstardom if I not only have to battle with the _wailing _of whatever heinous emo music that Melanie's son is blasting out of his second story window but also your destructive antics?"

"Well, erm," said Sirius, stepping away from the fence. "All great artists have overcome great adversity to . . . er . . . to give . . . um . . ."

"Give their work meaning," volunteered Harry.

"Exactly!"

"Don't help him, Harry," said Miss Julie firmly. "Your godfather's gotten himself into this mess and he has to get himself out of it."

"I don't suppose an I'm sorry will do the trick?" offered Sirius.

Miss Julie shook her head.

"And I promise not to let it happen again?"

"That will do," said Miss Julie, handing Harry the Frisbee. "And if it does . . ."

Sirius and Harry shook their heads fervently but Miss Julie smiled.

"Try to make sure that it at least hits one of my students in the head and knocks some sense of tune into their tin ears."

8888

The firelight reflected dramatically of off the crystal glasses and silverware. The clawed cherry wood table brought images of torture chambers to Sirius's mind. As he picked at whatever concoction Orion had prepared for them tonight, he resisted the temptation hum the theme from _Psycho_ no matter how appropriate it was.

"Are you finished?" Orion asked sharply from the head of the table.

Sirius started, dropping his fork with a clatter.

"Oh bullocks," he grumbled, diving for it.

Orion rolled his eyes in frustration.

"Harry, please don't become like your godfather," he sighed, summoning a house-elf forward.

Harry smiled slightly. He caught Sirius's eye and mouthed, "Too late."

"Oh, that reminds me," Orion said as a house-elf finished clearing their dinner plates. "My lawyer, Damien Drake, is coming this Tuesday and I would like you both to select things for me to leave you."

"Leave us when?" Harry asked innocently.

"Think for a sec," Sirius said.

"Oh . . ."

"Just sort out what you would like and stick a . . . what do you call these things?" Orion said, handing Harry a book of yellow sticky notes.

"Post-its?" Harry supplied.

Sirius did not want to fathom how his father had come by post-it notes.

"Orion, don't you think that's just the slightest bit," he paused, trying to find the exact word to describe his father's latest bizarre notion, "_morbid." _

"You can pick out things as well," Orion added, handing Sirius his own book of post-its.

"Oh, that makes it less creepy."

"Did you hear that, Kreacher? Apparently I'm creepy," said Orion to the decrepit old house-elf as it placed the dessert dishes in front of them. It nodded silently before scurrying back into the kitchen.

"What's this?" Sirius said, staring at the crystal bowl in front of him.

"What does it look like?" countered Orion, wondering what had gotten into his son tonight.

"It looks like chocolate ice cream," replied Harry, tasting it cautiously.

"But you don't like chocolate ice cream, Orion," Sirius pointed out.

"No, but you two do. Or am I mistaken?"

"No," said Sirius carefully as he tasted the dessert.

"I never thought of anyone eating ice cream out of a crystal bowl before," said Harry in between bites.

"You like the bowl?" Orion asked, letting his own dessert melt away. Harry nodded slightly. "Stick a post-it on it."

88888

"All right, this is officially the strangest evening I have ever spent in this house," said Sirius in resignation as he stuck a green post-it to an end-table that was embellished with carvings of snakes coiling about phoenixes.

"What is that?" asked Harry, pointing to a bizarre silver instrument that was a cross between pinchers and a wrench.

"Just another addition to the Orion Black psycho museum," said Sirius, nudging it aside with his wand.

"How are things in here?" asked Orion, striding into the room.

"Spectacular," replied Sirius, "just getting ready for the big day, you know."

"How I indulge your little sense of humor, Sirius," Orion muttered, leaning on the table.

"Careful there, Orion, we have a post-it on that. We'd like to keep it nice."

"Any special requests for dinner next week?" Orion asked, turning to Harry and ignoring his son. "It is your birthday after all, Harry."

"Oh . . . erm," Harry said, glancing meaningfully toward Sirius.

"Right," Sirius said, biting the tip of his tongue.

"I was thinking we could have a small party," continued Orion.

"Er, actually, Orion, mind if we have a chat?" Sirius asked, taking hold of his father's arm, "In private, preferably."

"Sirius, why are you dragging me like I am a sack of potatoes?"

"Because dragging you like you were a sack of peanuts is too easy to make fun of," Sirius replied as they entered the dining room. "Now as you know next Friday is Harry's eighth birthday so I was wondering—hoping really—if you might be willing to push our weekly dinner back to Saturday."

Orion pursed his lips as Sirius continued to substantiate his argument.

"—and Harry does deserve to spend his birthday with his friends at home so . . . Orion are you listening to me?"

"Pardon?"

Sirius gave him a look.

"No, Sirius," Orion said coolly, "I do not think it would be possible for me to push back our dinners especially considering that Harry's birthday does fall on the one evening in which the pair of you spends in my company."

"Orion, I'm serious, this is my kid's birthday."

"I know your name well enough, son, but I am refusing your request."

"Why?"

"Because Friday nights are my nights, they are what we agreed upon when I gave you the money for Harry's medical bills.

"Wait a second, Orion," Sirius said, holding up a hand to silence him, "I appreciate all the assistance but I did not expect this arrangement to be a constant source of blackmail."

8888

"So," Sirius began, climbing into the Jeep, "how would you feel about two parties this year?"

"You couldn't get him to cave?" Harry asked.

"No luck, pup, he has his Vulcan Death Grip on that one," sighed Sirius as the car roared to life. "Don't worry; we'll do it up right at home on Saturday."

"I know," Harry said smiling slightly. "But what does Orion have planned, exactly?"

"Well, he did say 'small party' so it shouldn't be too extreme," said Sirius as Harry relaxed a little. He smirked slightly before elaborating on Orion's interpretation of 'small.' "The government will close. Flags will fly at half mast. The Queen will be arriving with corgis in tow. Now the Pope has other plans, but he's trying to get out of them. But Elvis and Jim Morrison are coming and they're crisps."

"You ask a simple question," sighed the boy. "Maybe he'll surprise us. He did serve ice cream tonight."

Sirius could not help but acknowledge Harry's point before adding, "But just wait until next week when he'll serve us sand dibs and marzipan."

8888

Wind whipping through his hair, the intoxicating scent of summer filling his nostrils, leaves brushing the bottoms of his bare feet . . . yes, thirty feet above the earth was where he belonged. Harry circled lazily as the dusk began to settle. A sharp whistle came from below, his signal to land for the night.

"He's getting quite good at that isn't he?" Andromeda Tonks asked, coming up behind Sirius as he watched Harry very gradually descend. She had invited them over that afternoon to chat about party plans, knowing full well that Sirius would put everything off until the last second.

Sirius nodded. "He'd be up there all night if he could."

"Broom's a bit long though. Fine if you're over six feet but for Harry?"

"Well, its owner doesn't trust him on anyone else's."

"He is definitely your godson though," she teased.

"Excuse me?"

"Your mother nearly nailed your feet to the floorboards to keep you from flying when you were his age, Sirius."

Sirius gave her a boyish smile. "I had forgotten that."

"Wish I had your memory sometimes," Andromeda shook her head as if to banish the demons of her childhood. "Speaking of memories, what's going on Friday instead of the party?"

"Harry and I will be putting in for our weekly sentence at Grimmauld."

Andromeda blinked. "He isn't . . ."

"Oh, he is, couz, and this time he's doing it with glee," replied Sirius.

"Orion Black, you could set your watch by him."

"Not always," said Harry jogging up to them, broom tossed over his shoulder. "Hey Andy," he added.

"Oh, really?" Andromeda asked, her curiosity sparked, "What happened? He wore jeans and played ACDC?"

"No, he was in dress robes and played classical," Sirius said, twisting Harry around and roughing him up a little.

"But he served chocolate ice cream," Harry said, pushing back on Sirius.

"Get out of town!"

"We know," they chorused before Sirius added, "It was probably some expensive form of ice cream but still is was ice cream which in the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, in case you've forgotten, is only an acceptable food after you've had a vestigial organ removed."

"You know what that means, right?"

"I'm guessing it's not that he's hedging to stick a horse's head in my bed."

"Good try, but no," said Andromeda, amused. "I think he might actually be reaching out."

Harry and Sirius traded glances, eyebrows raised. "You think?" Harry ventured but Sirius shook his head in an all-knowing manner.

"I wouldn't get my hopes up," he said.

"But he actually listened to something either of you said," Andromeda explained as they walked back inside. "He tuned out that loud roaring in his head that blocks out anything sensible and put thought into doing it."

Once again, they traded looks before Sirius opted to respond, "We'll give him a chance, Andy, but I'm not expecting a miracle of any proportion. After all, this is my _father_ we're talking about. The guy who thought locking his kids in a pseudo-dungeon was a suitable punishment."

"Fair point," she admitted, glancing at her watch. "Merlin, it's late. You'd better be off."

"Tossing us out so early?"

"Some of us have to sleep so yes, Blackie," Andromeda laughed, hugging her younger cousin good-bye. "Keep an eye on him for me, Harry."

"Always do," Harry promised, hugging her as well.

8888

Upon their return home, Harry was sent to wash up and Sirius was greeted by the ring of the telephone.

"Hello?"

"Sirius, what is your work schedule this week?"

"Orion?"

"Yes, of course it's me. Who else would be calling to ask you that?" barked his father.

"Actually, I was hoping for Claudia Schiffer."

There was a pause during which Sirius was almost sure his father was mentally strangling him.

"When you're finished," Orion said sternly, "I was wondering if you would mind coming with me to pick out a present for Harry."

Sirius raised an eyebrow. This was becoming curiouser and curiouser. "I'm sure whatever you pick out he'll like."

"Yes, but I want to give him something special, something he'll like, something . . . like you would give him." There was a definite desperate note in Orion's voice.

"You're serious about this?"

"According to you, I'm always serious," said Orion with his typical upper crust undertones. "It's just I hardly see the boy, and when I do it's all about Quidditch and Lon—"

"Ron," Sirius corrected.

"Whatever, and for once I was hoping that you'd let me into your secret club for once and help me get him something for his birthday."

Sirius glanced into the kitchen to make sure Harry wasn't coming before replying, "Okay, I'm free any day after five."

"Then I'll meet you in Diagon Alley tomorrow at half-past."

"Okay."

"And dress appro—"

"Father, please don't finish that sentence."

There was another pause before Orion settled on, "I'll see you tomorrow."

"There you go." Just as Sirius hung up Harry came into the hall, still toweling his hair.

"Who was that?" he asked.

"Give you three guesses," Sirius said, taking over the toweling.

"Orion, Orion, and Orion?"

"Good guesses." Sirius finished, balling up the towel.

"What did he want?"

"Pup, you wouldn't believe it if I told you."

8888

"I can't believe you're actually going to let Sirius's father throw you a party," said Harry's best friend, Ron Weasley. They and Ron's twin brothers had spent the day de-gnoming the Weasleys' garden, a virtually impossible task that Harry actually looked forward to when he came to visit. It gave them a legitimate reason to get dirty.

"He just said a 'small party,' how bad can that be?" Harry replied with a shrug.

Fred laughed hollowly. "Leo, you have got to know better than that by now."

"What do you mean?"

George, Fred's twin, pushed back away from the fresh plot, wiping his hands on his jeans. "Purebloods like Orion Black live to show off their kids like they're trophies. By accepting his invitation to a "small party," you actually said, "Sure Orion, I don't mind you throwing me an expensive party and treating me like a prized show dog by parading me in front of your friends for an entire evening."

"Are they joking?" Harry asked Ron, wide eyed.

"I don't think so," Ron said, looking from Fred to George for any sign of sarcasm. There was none. "I think you're stuck, mate."

"What I can't believe is that Sirius is actually allowing him to do this," Fred said. "I mean, Leo, your father doesn't take any crud from anyone, right?"

Harry nodded.

"So why is he letting this happen?" George finished.

"Because of ice cream," said Harry, feeling his start stomach to sink.

"Ice cream?" Ron asked.

"Yeah, last Friday at dinner Orion served us ice cream for dessert even though he hates ice cream. Since then, they've been . . . not fighting. So maybe Sirius figures that maybe Orion is trying to get to know us, and I dunno, make up for stuff that happened a long time ago or something."

The three Weasleys glanced at each other before Ron said meaningfully, "You know, Leo, you could always _buy _ice cream."

"I know," sighed Harry, "but it's only one night, right?"

None of the redheads responded.

8888

After three hours of shopping with his father, Sirius feared that if he quirked his eyebrow one more time that it would stick that way leaving him with a permanently skeptical look. On the upside, some of Orion's suggestions were downright hilarious.

"What about a Sevenston quill?" Orion tried, indicating a long quill with a silver feather.

"To put on his desk at the law firm?" Sirius blurted.

"_No_," Orion hissed, frustration creeping into his voice. "The boy needs to write with something."

"Not with a hundred Galleon quill, he doesn't," Sirius said shortly.

Orion moved toward another display case. "What about cufflinks? Silver and emeralds?"

"Harry's turning _eight_, Orion, not forty-eight," sighed Sirius, running a hand through his hair. So much for his plan to sit back and let Orion do all the pointing and purchasing. "Hey, what about these?" he offered, holding up a pair of what looked like red Omnioculars. "Oh, cool, they're actually ViewFinders. They simulate being in whatever place you're viewing."

"Now what practical use do those serve?" Orion stared at the gadget disdainfully.

"Well, erm," Sirius fumbled, "you can finally experience Maui."

It was Orion's turn to raise an eyebrow. "Honestly, Sirius, we're shopping for Harry here."

Sirius frowned, "No, I've been shopping for Harry. You've been shopping for my imaginary godson J. D. Rockefeller."

Orion shook his head in exasperation. "Fine, let's just go then. I knew this was a bad idea to begin with."

"No, Orion," sighed Sirius, taking hold of his father's arm and pulling the man back, "wait. Now, come on, you know how to do this."

"I do?" There was a genuine surprise in Orion's voice.

"Yes, you do," Sirius insisted. "Just think . . _. ice cream_."

"Ice cream?" Surprise morphed into complete confusion.

"Yes, Father, ice cream," Sirius said seriously. "You asked for my help, right? You're . . . now don't freak but you're . . . well, reaching out. You asked for my help so here it is: think ice cream."

"How Zen of you," Orion muttered.

"Now, look around and pick up something he might like."

Grudgingly, Orion scanned the posh shop for suitable present for an eight-year old. A small silver globe with dozens of pinpricks in it caught his eye. "What about this?" he said, picking it up.

Sirius examined it. The description stated that it reflected the solar system onto any ceiling and shifted in accordance with the Earth's position around the sun. "Oh, wow, that's really good."

"Is it?" The elder Black turned over the globe. "It glows though."

"Even better."

"Are you sure it doesn't look like something I purchased at a Muggle shop? It's only two galleons and nine sickles."

"Three pounds more than at a Muggle shop."

"If you're sure," said Orion, still hesitant.

"Believe me, he'll love it."

8888

Harry had just finished setting the table when the door opened.

"Hey pup!" Sirius greeted, followed by, "Did you get the mail?"

"Yeah, it's on the end table," Harry shouted back.

Sirius entered the kitchen a second later, flipping through the letters. "Oh, look we're in the first round semi-final drawing for an all purpose recreational vehicle; some coupons; water bill; and the mortgage. Hey, Har', you don't mind taking care of it this month right?"

"Nah," Harry laughed. "Pizza's on its way."

"Such a good provider," Sirius said, tossing the bills in the "IN" bin. "How were the Weasleys?"

"Good, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Fred, George, Percy, Ginny, and Ron all say "hi." We de-gnomed the garden."

Sirius chuckled. "Why is it that whenever you go over someone else's house, you're willing to do their chores but I can't pay you to weed our garden?"

"De-gnoming is fun though," Harry pointed out, "and weeding is just boring."

"Fair enough," his godfather conceded.

"What are those?" Harry asked pointing to the two garment bags Sirius had slung over his shoulder.

Sirius smiled slyly, laying the bags over a chair. "You'd better sit down for this, pup, because in these bags are things that will make you appreciate a simple tie so much more. These are our dress-robes for Friday night." He unzipped one, showing Harry a layer of stiff hunter green material with lace at the cuffs.

Harry regarded it skeptically. "So, this is a costume party?"

"I wish," Sirius said, sitting in another chair. "So I went shopping today with _Orion_—" Harry winched appropriately—"and for the first three hours it was all, "Hello Orion, who are you buying that for? Have you met Harry?" and then finally I talked and he listened and he ended up getting you something that I think you're really going to like."

"Wow," Harry whispered, the sinking feeling in his stomach falling a few inches lower. "I've never seen you so happy after spend so much time with Orion."

"Well, it's the first time we didn't end up fighting," Sirius admitted. "It wasn't exactly fun, but I didn't get that shooting pain in my forehead like usual."

"Wow," the boy repeated, at a loss for words.

"You know, we could sort of embrace this whole thing. Like Andy said if Orion's reaching out we might as well give him a fair shot."

Harry forced a smile. After all the things the Weasleys warned him about, he couldn't help but feel like this was the calm before the storm, but then again he didn't want to ruin what seemed to be Sirius's best shot at having a semi-normal relationship with his father. And if Sirius was happy, he was happy, right?

8888

Harry's bedside clock had just stuck midnight when his door opened and a tall figure slipped inside. The boy remained fast asleep as the pajama-clad intruder crossed the room and reached out, brushing his fringe aside. Harry twitched as a single finger stroked his scar before the hand continued to move down his face, rubbing an upturned cheek. His eyelids fluttered as he slowly awoke.

"Happy Birthday, pup," whispered Sirius.

Harry smiled sleepily, scooting over so Sirius could lie down beside him. "Hey," he said, curling against Sirius's side as his godfather wrapped an arm securely about his shoulders.

"I can't believe how fast you're growing up."

"Really?" Harry whispered. "It seems slow."

"Uh uh, trust me it's fast," said Sirius. "So, what do you think of your life so far?"

Harry smiled again. "I think it's pretty good."

"Any complaints?"

"Erm, I'd like that whole stare down thing to go away."

"Okay," Sirius laughed. "I'll work on that."

Growing more alert by the second, Harry boosted himself up on an elbow. "Do I look older?"

"Completely," Sirius teased, "you'll be mistaken for Dumbledore's double any day now."

"Good deal," Harry agreed.

"So, want to know what I think?"

Harry nodded, settling back down.

"I think you're an awesome kid and the best friend a guy could have."

"Right back at ya," Harry managed around a yawn.

Sirius pulled the blankets up over them before taking a deep breath and saying, "And it's hard to believe that this very minute, many moons ago that your mum was in the same position—"

"Oh no," Harry moaned, burying his head into Sirius's side, "here we go."

"—while Moony was outside calmly sipping tea and nibbling on biscuits and I was steadily wearing away the waiting room's tile floor. But we could both hear Lily shouting and swearing like a sailor—"

"On leave," Harry added.

"That's right, and while some have called it the most meaningful experience of their lives, she compared it more to doing the splits on a bed of hot coals."

Harry giggled despite himself. "I wonder if the Windsors ever do this."

"That would be bloody frightening," Sirius said with a laugh. "Now back to the story, I was getting to the ice chips bit, right?"

"I love you, Siri," Harry mumbled, giving into sleep.

"Love you too, pup, always," whispered Sirius. "So, about those ice chips . . ."

8888

Harry slipped into the Ministry Café later that morning, glancing to and fro. Only patrons were two warlocks from the eleventh floor hunched over a single steaming cauldron. Behind the counter through, Sue was battling with a toaster.

"Hey Sue!" he called, climbing up on a bar stool.

"Hey Leo," she said, digging her wand deeper into one of the metal slits. "Your father needs coffee?"

"Only with his oxygen."

"There's some on the table by the window."

Harry frowned. "But . . ."

"Trust me; now go over to the table."

Harry turned, glancing over his shoulder. Not only was there a steaming thermos of coffee on the table but also a small coffee cake and two balloons with "Happy Birthday Leo!" written on them.

"Thanks Sue!" he chirped, slipping off of the stool.

"Anytime, munchkin," Sue smiled.

Harry took the thermos, balancing it in the crook of his arm, and gathered up the balloons and cake before grinning to Sue and heading very carefully to the elevator.

"Leo? Leo Black?" growled one of the warlocks as Harry passed.

"Yes?" he called back.

"Stop. Turn." The warlock looked through a pair of horn-rimmed spectacles at the boy. "Orion told me you were small. Clearly, he was making an understatement."

"He did? He was?" replied the boy, feeling his glasses slip down his nose.

"Yes, I suppose I will see if you gain any height by this evening."

Frowning again, Harry just nodded and continued on towards the elevator. While he waited, he could not help but glance back at the warlocks. Were the Weasley twins right about Orion? "Just think about ice cream," he muttered as the grate opened.

8888

At precisely five after six that evening, Sirius and Harry were escorted into the oversized candelabra formally known as Number Twelve Grimmauld Place. There were tapers and silver decorations everywhere. House-elves were dashing about, fulfilling Orion's every whim as the man stood in the middle of the drawing room already wearing his best dress robes, black with silver accents that depicted the Black crest on his right breast pocket.

"You're late," said Orion, not looking at them but at the elf that was arranging two candlesticks on the mantle. "They should be exactly six inches apart!" he barked. "Be sure you're measuring!"

The poor house-elf was quivering in fear.

"The house looks great, Orion," Sirius said loudly, trying get his father's attention.

"It does?" Orion sounded skeptical.

"Yes," agreed Harry.

"Really sensational," Sirius insisted.

Orion's eyes trailed on them. "What are you wearing?"

"The robes you bought us," said Sirius truthfully. They were wearing the green robes Orion had purchased but the Auror had done a few alterations so they looked less like they had come out of the eighteenth century.

"I thought there were more to them," Orion muttered.

"Did I mention how great the place looks," Sirius grinned. "Especially the candles, six inches apart eh?"

8888

A little less than an hour later, the house has positively packed with wizards and witches of venerable breeding and great renown. All were dressed immaculately and Harry highly suspected that if one was to lump together all jewelry that the witches were wearing it would be worth more than the entire property value of Dale.

Orion seemed to be in his element, engaging in conversation with each person. Though he always seemed to be surrounded by people, he moved from guest to guest, group to group with the greatest of ease.

Harry wished he had been gifted with that same ability as he seemed to always be stumbling into someone or was mistaken for a house-elf. He had gotten separated from Sirius somehow and was now trying to find him, blast his godfather's tendency to wander. For what felt like the hundredth time, he apologized for having trod on a person's foot and explained how he was Leo, Sirius's son.

"So that's the boy," whispered the wizard to another. "I see why Orion hid him for so long. He's as warped as his father."

Harry stopped dead. He intended to give the wizard a piece of his mind when his ears picked up another conversation between two witches.

"So that is Sirius's son?" said one with a particularly upturned nose. "Obviously the boy took after whatever whore he impregnated. Pity, Sirius was always so handsome."

"Yes, but did you really expect anything else?" said her friend. "He was also always so queer. Walburga always lamented how he was obsessed with the Muggle world. Poor dear, could you just imagine?"

"I heard he lives in a Muggle town," hissed a hunchbacked old crone who had shuffled up beside the witches. She had a glittering tiara in her mess of unkempt white curls. "Quite the disgrace, he is. During the war, he ran with Dumbledore and his band misfits that preached integration."

Harry pressed on, hoping to see someone he knew. After all, there was bound to be a Ministry official here somewhere.

Just as he turned, a great mass stepped in front of him. Harry craned his neck back to look into the beetle black eyes of a hulking man with wiry hair that had been tied back.

"So you're the Black heir?" he growled through yellowing teeth.

"I'm Leo," Harry said. "Who are you?"

"My friends call me Macnair," said the man. "I hear tell that your da' is big pals with a flea bag, is that true?"

"I don't think it's any of your business," said Harry brashly.

Macnair chuckled. "It is, Mudblood. I know Sirius from way back, and I know the kinds of people he used to be seen with. You're no big surprise, what you are. Black blood mixed with sewage is enough to make even me sick." Macnair pulled back his sleeve to reveal rotting flesh and a massive chunk of flesh missing from his arm. "And not many things do."

Harry swallowed hard.

"Tell your da's friend to be careful or he might find himself fixed . . . permanently," jeered Macnair.

Harry backed way, disappearing into the crowd as Macnair threw his head back and laughed. But as he tried to navigate his way through the throng, whispers could be heard all around him.

"That's Sirius's son, the filthy blood traitor!"

"He turned his back on his own family to run off with Potter and his slut."

"They say Black's some big war hero but I never believed it."

"He clearly won _a_ war, and that brat is his medal."

"Dear god, if Orion had any sense he would have disposed of them."

"Walburga blasted him off of the tree. Not enough if you ask me."

"He ran away at sixteen, don't you know? According to Narcissa, he lived in London. He was a breath away from starvation until some relative stepped in."

"Pity about that. We'd be better off without him."

"That's Sirius's son? That pathetic little toerag?! Probably as soft in the head as his old man, Muggle-loving fool if there ever was one."

"The Blacks used to be such a fine family and now look what Orion has left? A traitorous son and his Mudblood son."

"Regulus told me about his brother once. He said he was nothing but a soft hearted fool who spent all his time with a Mudblood and a Potter."

"Disgusting! Absolutely disgusting!"

"If you ask me, Regulus should have lived."

"Stop," Harry hissed, tripping over someone's cloak and falling forward, effectively if not embarrassingly freeing himself from the mass.

Shoving himself to his feet, relief spread through Harry as he finally spotted Sirius only a few feet away. He was trying very hard to edge away from a silver-haired witch. As he approached, he could make out bits of their conversation.

"I really do want to grow," said the witch, snapping her fingers. A house-elf appeared at her side with a fresh martini. "I'm trying to better myself by being more sensitive."

"A noble goal," said Sirius, his gaze falling to the trembling house-elf.

"So, what is the infamous Sirius Black up to these days? Are you still an Auror?"

"Yes but there's nothing really to tell," said Sirius honestly.

"You're not married?" asked the witch, a tad too hopeful.

Sirius barked out a laugh. "No, it's just Leo and I."

"Leo? Your house-elf?"

"My kid," he corrected. "Speaking of whom, excuse me." He walked away from her as fast as was seemly. "Thank you," he whispered, putting an arm around Harry's shoulders.

"Anytime," the boy smiled. "Poor house-elf though."

"Yeah, well, not all of them are as unpleasant as Kreacher."

"Is that Sirius Black?" came a booming voice behind them.

Sirius froze. The color drained from his face and his hand dug into Harry's shoulder.

Harry twisted his head in time to see a very short, very rotund man with a large walrus-like mustache waddling towards them. He was wearing lurid lilac robes and matching pillbox hat with a tassel that swung wildly about.

"_Oho!"_ said the man, his pudgy face breaking into a wide grin. "It is you!"

"Hello Professor," said Sirius, forcing a smile. "It's been awhile, hasn't it?"

"Awhile?" crowed the Professor, holding out a slightly sugar-dusted hand to Sirius. "It's been years, m'boy! Ten if memory serves me right."

"It always has," said Sirius in a somewhat pained voice. He shook the man's hand but before he could free himself the Professor clutched it with his other.

"I've heard you've made quite a name for yourself in the Auror Department: a First-Class Agent at twenty-five, the youngest Trainer ever certified, Alastor Moody's protégé," said the Professor, his gooseberry eyes gleaming with every word. "None of it surprised me, of course. You were always a brilliant student and, if I do say so myself, a truly remarkable duelist. Certainly one of the best I've ever seen and I have seen many."

"Thank you," said Sirius in the same voice as before.

"I've always regretted not having you in my house, you know. Talent such as yours . . ."

"Well, your excellent Potions lessons were always an asset."

The Professor nodded self-indulgently. As he did so, he noticed Harry who had tried to duck behind Sirius.

"And who do we have here?" he asked, his eyes growing even brighter.

"Oh," said Sirius slowly, nodding for Harry to come forward. "This is my son, Leo."

"Your son?" the Professor half-bounced in place.

"Yes," Sirius turned to Harry. "Leo, this is my former Potions professor, Horace Slughorn."

"Nice to meet you," said Harry shyly. He had learned long ago that men like Slughorn were not as interested in children if they appeared too quiet.

Slughorn's eyes roved up and down Harry's slight body. "My," said Slughorn, "he does have that same spark, doesn't he?"

"Excuse me?"

"Yes, he does," declared Slughorn. "The same spark as you, Sirius, that flare of intelligence and confidence. I believe this boy will do great things. How could he not though? Being your son."

Sirius felt the tips of his ears redden.

"Well, er," he fumbled, feeling Harry shift anxiously beside him. "We'll just have to wait and see, eh Leo?"

Harry nodded. "I guess."

"And modest as well," chirped Slughorn, waving a pudgy hand for a drink to come. "I'm assuming his mother was a witch of some renown as well? I couldn't possibly see you with a common Muggle-born, Sirius. Not enough drama as you children say."

The temper that had been simmering all evening within Harry threatened to boil over. Though every word that came out of this man's mouth did not seem to be outright vicious, they still felt that way.

"Ah, there you two are!" came Orion's strong voice as he cut through the crowd. "If you would excuse Leo, Horace," he said, clapping a hand on Harry's shoulder once he reached the three of them and guiding the boy away.

"Not at all, not at all," said Slughorn, his eyes fixed on Sirius. "Your son and I were just chatting about his career advancement opportunities. He still has wonderful potential despite the obvious obstacles."

It took an extraordinary amount of willpower for Sirius not to roll his eyes.

"Fantastic," said Orion blandly over his shoulder.

"Thank you," whispered Harry as soon as they were a good distance from Slughorn. "He was being so—"

"Complimentary," supplied Orion with a superior shake of his head. "Horace Slughorn is a fine man, Leo. Very well connected and influential . . . in his own particular way. If he's taken a notice in you, I suggest you be grateful and do not brush his opinions aside as your father has done on numerous occasions."

Harry wrinkled his nose at the thought of sucking up to that overgrown walrus.

"But," he tried.

Orion held up a hand to silence him.

"Seeing as it is going on nine, Leo," he began in the same overly cultured voice he had been using all evening, "I think it would be best if you gave a little speech to your guests."

"S-speech?" stuttered Harry, his throat running dry. "To t-these people?"

"No to the house elves," sighed Orion. "Of course to these people, Leo. Honestly, sometimes I wonder where your head is."

"But I can't do that!"

"Of course you can. All it is a quick thank you and some words of appreciation for everyone coming this long way."

Harry shook his head. "I can't."

"And why not?" demanded Orion.

"I never wanted them to come. All they've done all night is gossip about Sirius and say how he's a disgrace and how I'm a mongrel or a filthy half-breed! They're all awful."

"How dare you," growled Orion. "These people are among the most—"

"Self-absorbed, judgmental old cows I've ever met," snapped Harry as the air around him began to crackle with magic. Wine glasses began to float away from their drinkers.

"Leo!" Orion shouted as the entire room grew still and focused upon them.

"No!" said Harry, his temper finally winning out. "Why did you even invite them? To show me off like I'm some sort of trophy?! An heir that could still be . . . I dunno . . . groomed to perfection? No thanks! I understand why Sirius ran away. I would have too."

With that, Harry spun on a heel and bolted away amid the shattering of glassware.

No one made a sound for a good thirty seconds. All eyes were on Orion whose face had grown dark. Sirius bravely went forward.

"Orion, I'm sor—"

"Silence!" snarled his father.

Sirius obeyed, backing away half a step.

"I suppose you are pretty proud of yourself," sneered Orion. "That boy is as rude and ungrateful as you are, Sirius, and neither of you will ever change."

Orion walked away from him, leaving his son to look for Harry.

8888

Sirius's search led him to the very top floor of the house and a door that had been left ajar.

"Harry?" he called, knocking.

"In here," came his godson's muffled reply.

Sirius let himself in, his eyes falling on the old familiar sight of his childhood room. The now dust-coated Gryffindor banners and photographs were still stuck to closely together that there was barely an inch of actual wall space visible. He remembered just how desperately he wanted to prove that he was not like his parents or his sycophantic brother. There were Muggle books and knickknacks scattered about the place including motorcycle manuals and ballpoint pens. These were nothing though, he thought wryly, compared to the rest of his 'collection.'

At the moment, Harry was sitting on Sirius's bed leaning back against the headboard with his knees drawn to his chest. His jaw was set, his expression a mixture of confusion, anger, and total frustration. Sirius was deeply reminded of an eight year old version of himself.

"Wow," he began, "time has stood still in this room . . . thanks to Permanent Sticking Charms."

"I now know what it's like to have grown up this place," said Harry.

"Oh no you don't," said Sirius, sitting down across from him. "You won't know until you're huddled in a corner and rocking back and forth like a heroin addict."

"Like a what?"

"Never mind," said Sirius. "So what happened down there, short stack? Aside from a nice display of magic, it was pretty Freaky Friday, don't you think?"

"A little," Harry confessed. "I didn't mean to yell. I just got so mad. Everyone had been saying how awful we were and how you're a failure just because you ran away and . . ."

"How you're nothing but a mistake that should have been erased?" Sirius offered; his voice soft and kind.

Harry nodded.

"I've heard that before."

"About me?"

"No," said Sirius bitterly. "About me."

"What?!"

His godfather nodded. "But they're wrong."

The boy made to nod again but stopped halfway through. "Siri," he whispered, "how do we know that? They all seem to think—"

Sirius shook his head, easing himself back so he and Harry were sitting beside each other.

"You spoke a great deal of truth about those people downstairs during your rant," he said. "They are judgmental and they are pompous idiots who have spent their whole lives trying to fulfill their relatives' expectations and maintain their family's legacy. I doubt that many of them could even imagine having to be themselves without the presence of their surnames to guide them."

"But they all think that I'm some sort of . . . obstacle. Some thing that's in your way."

Sirius smiled down at him. "First off, you are not now or have ever been any of those things I'm sure my father's delightful friends came up with. You are, without a doubt, the best thing that has ever happened to me."

"Really?"

"Yes," grinned Sirius briefly before sobering. "And I'm certain that they've only say things like that because they can't possibly comprehend what we are."

Harry still looked confused.

"You mentioned something about how Orion was treating you like a trophy, correct?"

"Yeah."

"You were right," said Sirius. "Children, in pureblood families, are often seen as commodities. Things created to ensure the survival of the family name and little else until they achieve some acclaim while at school or in life that can be boasted about amid brandy and cigars. Living by these parameters, I think people like Orion find it surprisingly difficult to understand how we get along so well, pup. Even in our world, we're considered to be pretty close."

"It's feels so normal though," said Harry stubbornly. "I wouldn't want it to be different. I don't get how parents can treat their kids like Orion treated you."

"Me neither," Sirius agreed half-heartedly, giving Harry the distinct impression that his godfather had dealt with more parents and their approaches than he had.

However, all this information combined with that evening's events swirled in Harry's head like a tornado. Orion was undoubtedly furious with him, all the people downstairs most likely had their beliefs confirmed about him, and if he was probably in far more trouble than he had ever feared to be. Orion was certainly not the "forgive and forget" type. So far eight was proving to be a very complicated year.

Heaving a sigh, Harry leaned his head against his godfather's chest. Somewhere deep inside a wave of warmth washed over him as Sirius put an arm around his shoulders, and he was safe. As long as he had Sirius, he knew things would be okay.

Sirius looked down at Harry who was leaning his head against his chest. His eyes were closed, taking in the peace that currently surrounded them. Sirius put an arm around his godson, letting the boy relax. It still marveled Sirius how much his mere presence reassured Harry.

_At least someone can be calm in this place_, he thought wryly. He glanced around the room again as long buried memories began to spurt forth in his mind like poisonous daisies after a long winter. In the far corner, he could remember crouching there, hands clapped over his ears while his parents raged downstairs. They fought like vipers on most days, usually about him, his "abnormal tendencies," and whose fault they were. His eyes traveled to his bookcase that now had only about ten volumes left on it. He did not doubt that his mother had personally destroyed all his Muggle books and whatever other gadgets had been left around the room.

Directly across from him there was a crack in the wall that was half-hidden by a Gryffindor banner. Sirius closed his eyes and his father's voice filled his head.

"_What is the matter with you?" shouted Orion, seizing his eleven year son by the shoulders and lifting him off of the floor until they were on eye level. "Who is that girl?" _

_Sirius stared, his eyes wide. _

"_Answer me!" _

"_A friend from school . . . I was just saying hello," said Sirius, his voice cracking. _

"_They're filth!" snarled his father, shaking him so hard he swore he felt his brain bouncing loose. "How stupid are you, Sirius? How many times do I have to tell you that Muggles are dangerous? They're low, foul creatures. They're dangerous, parasitic leviathans! You must never speak to them again!"_

"_But Father, if you just—"_

"_No," said Orion. "Let's see if this makes a dent in that thick head of yours." _

_The next thing Sirius felt was a paralyzing bolt of pain and then darkness. _

"Siri?"

Harry's whisper pulled his godfather back to the present.

"Yes, pup?"

"Don't you think we should be getting back downstairs?"

Sirius shook his head.

"Give Orion some time," he said. "He'll find us."

As the words left his mouth, footsteps could be heard outside the door. A second later, it was banged open and Orion stormed inside.

"There you two are," he said, contemptuously. "You're both making a very poor impression, and I suggest you return to the drawing room before you thoroughly embarrass yourselves."

Sirius and Harry slowly rose from their positions and went downstairs.

8888

By the time the grandfather clock had struck half past eleven the last guest had been bayed farewell and Kreacher had begun the arduous task of tidying up.

"Sirius," Orion called, his voice still saturated with disdain, "do not forget these." He handed his son a small money bag.

Sirius took it from him and lurched forward.

"What the heck?"

"It's magically enlarged. Each guest brought a little something."

"Nice," said Sirius appreciatively.

"It was only polite," said Orion haughtily.

"Well, yes . . ."

"Er, Siri?" asked Harry, stepping forward. "Could I speak to Orion alone for a minute?"

"Sure," Sirius said. "I'll go put this bag in a safe place. Wonder if my wallet's large enough," he muttered, turning a corner.

Harry laughed softly before looking to Orion who was not amused.

"You wished to speak with me?"

"Yes," began Harry carefully, "I just wanted to say that I'm sorry for acting like I did earlier. I was just a little overwhelmed, I guess. But I know you must have put a lot of thought and planning into tonight, and I really _do _appreciate it."

Orion's expression remained stony.

"And if it makes up for anything, I was wondering if you would like to come to our house tomorrow night," offered Harry. "Sirius has this whole thing planned and . . . well, it won't be as grand as this but it will be fun . . . all of our friends will be there and if would be great if you could come," he finished hopefully.

The man stared down at him, considering the offer. Eventually, Orion replied, "I do not think that will be possible, Harry."

"Oh," the boy said. "Okay."

"I shall see you next Friday then. Good evening."

Orion turned his back to Harry and went on to observe Kreacher's progress.

"Thank you," said Harry, downcast. He walked out of the room, past Sirius who was standing at the threshold.

"Go out to the car," he whispered. "I'll be there in a sec."

Once Harry had gone, Sirius went about taking matters into his own hands.

"Orion," he said firmly. "What was that about?"

"Whatever do you mean?"

"You know what I mean. Harry was trying to apologize and you just blew him off."

Orion huffed. "I did not just blow him off as you say. I accepted his words and told him that I was busy tomorrow evening."

"Doing what?"

"That is none of your business, Sirius."

"If it's affecting my kid then I make it my business."

Orion let out a snort of aggravation. "What do you want me to say? That I was not absolutely humiliated tonight? That a few words will make up for what that boy has done to my reputation? Your reputation?"

"He's eight, Orion," sighed Sirius. "He's a child. Children make mistakes. They lose their tempers. At least he asked you personally for your forgiveness. That could not have been easy for him."

"Fine, if you want me to say that all is forgiven then it is. Good evening."

"No," said Sirius stepping in front of Orion and drawing himself up to full height. He was a couple inches taller than his father. "We are not finished here. Just saying all is forgiven won't work. Harry won't believe you unless you prove it. Actions speak louder than words, Orion."

Orion glowered at his son. "Clearly, but as I have told you numerous times not all of us are as noble as you. Not all of us bend over backwards to make amends with people who have wronged us. Half the things you do, you do only to please others. I've noticed that you've bestowed that trait upon the boy and it makes me wonder what else he has picked up from you. Besides that temper of his, of course."

"You've never understood why I act the way I do, and you obviously don't see why I'm glad Harry does the same," Sirius snapped.

"You're not such a mystery to me, Sirius! You're pathetically predictable."

"Then I suppose you know what I'm going to say now," fumed Sirius, crossing his arms over his chest.

"That you give up?" mused Orion. "That you regretted coming here?"

"Right as always, _Father_," seethed Sirius.

Orion's gaze became steely. "If I had a Knut for every time you gave up—"

"Then you could have paid to dispose of us." With that Sirius turned and stormed out of the house.

8888

The next morning, a pajama clad Sirius stumbled into the kitchen and immediately seized the offered cup of coffee.

"Hang over?" guessed Remus who had arrived about fifteen minutes ago only to find the house dead silent. He was dressed in a pair of non-distressed jeans and a gray t-shirt which was considered elegant attire for Sirius's idea of a party. He had already set out large colorful bowls and balloons to be blown up.

"Orion," Sirius corrected, sitting down and massaging his temples with his free hand.

"My mistake," Remus said kindly. "I've got some eggs going if that's help."

"Therapy will help," Sirius grumbled, "but eggs are a decent start."

Remus turned his back to Sirius as the door across the room opened and a still sleepy Harry came into the room. Hair sticking up in every direction and eyes puffy, it seemed as though Harry had not had a very peaceful night either.

The boy immediately went over to his godfather and leaned his forehead against Sirius's shoulder.

"You were making noise," muttered the boy. "It's too early to be up."

"Getting old are we, Harry?" Remus teased.

Harry mumbled something that made Sirius chuckle before his godfather replied, "Keep in mind that he did get his first taste of a proper Wizarding soirée last evening."

"So you're the one with the hang over?"

Harry groaned, flopping into a chair.

"I'd say so," agreed Sirius, leaning his chair back on its two rear legs.

"Give me five minutes," muttered Harry, resting his arms on the table and burying his head in them, "and I'll be ready to help."

"Help?" Sirius laughed. "It's your party, kid. You're supposed to sit back and mock the rest of us, have I taught you nothing?"

"Yes," said Harry and Remus in unison.

"With friends like you two, I don't need enemies," smirked Sirius, letting his chair fall level.

8888

By that evening 204 Barret Court had been transformed. Streamers and balloons decorated the living room and the corridors. Music blasted out of a pair of speakers. Children raced through the house as their parents and other adults chatted about, making unsuccessful attempts to help Sirius who actually had things quite under control.

"Oy, Sirius," called Charlie who had long accepted Sirius's need to do all his own hosting duties. "Drinks could use some freshening."

"Scotch and soda?" asked Sirius as he flipped a rocks glass over his shoulder from behind and caught it with the opposite hand.

"Aye, Master Bartender," Charlie chuckled as Sirius preformed the same trick with the Scotch bottle.

"Don't be a show-off," admonished Andromeda. She looked quite the Muggle in her jeans and white polo shirt.

"Hey, this is my one true calling," grinned Sirius, handing Charlie his drink. "Oh, and if you even begin to hum "I Did it My Way," you're being cut off."

"I still maintain that I did not break into song at the Christmas party," said Charlie stubbornly.

"You didn't," said Sirius, handing Andromeda a glass of white wine. "You broke into a whole song and dance routine."

"I did not!"

Sirius quirked an eyebrow.

"Why do you always have to be right?" muttered Charlie.

"Because he's an insufferable know-it-all," said a teenage girl with electric green hair and a wide smile. "Imagine having him tutor you for your O. W. L.s. I never want to hear about Goblin rebellions again."

"Poor Nymphadora," said Charlie.

"It's _Tonks_," corrected Nymphadora.

"You'll thank me when you get your marks back," replied Sirius, sliding Tonks a pink drink in a frosted glass despite Andromeda's warning look. "It's virgin, trust me."

Tonks sighed appropriately but caught Sirius winking at her. She began to sip the drink with greater interest.

"Padfoot!" shouted Remus from across the room as his path was cut off by three children bolting past him. "Ack! What _do _their parents feed them? Pure sugar?" he asked, finally reaching them.

Sirius shook his head. "Haven't a clue."

"Do you want me to take care of dessert and you can . . .," Remus trailed off meaningfully.

"Yeah, Andy do you mind getting Ted over here to mind the drinks and Charlie?" asked Sirius.

"Sure," said his cousin as Sirius went off in search of his godson.

"Harry?" Sirius called, finally finding him with a group of neighboring boys in a corner of the living room, plotting something that involved whipped cream canister. "Can you come with me for a second?"

The boy nodded, promising his friends that he'd be right back before following his godfather upstairs to Sirius's room.

"I have something for you," Sirius said slowly, "but I didn't think many of our guests would understand what it really is so I decided to save it."

"What is it?" Harry asked as Sirius turned on the lights. A long thin colorfully wrapped package was on the unmade bed.

"Go on," Sirius gave him a little nudge. Harry approached it slowly, not sure what it would be. He pulled off the wrapping with more care than one would expect of an eight-year old. Sirius watched as realization crept onto Harry's face. The boy pulled up the lid of the box and his mouth dropped as a gleaming new broom hovered inches above the cardboard.

Harry touched the highly polished wood, half-expecting it to vanish, but it felt warm and real beneath his fingertips.

"Like it?" Sirius asked despite knowing the answer.

Harry spun around and jumped into his arms. "Ohmygod, thankyouthankyouthankyouthankyou," he cried in a single breath. "How did you . . . ? It's . . . it's so expensive!"

"Yeah, that's what I told the guy," Sirius joked, hugging his pup. "I'm glad you like it."

"Thank you!" Harry shouted again into his godfather's ear.

"You are very welcome," Sirius said, grinning. "But I think that our guests may be missing us."

"Okay," Harry agreed. "Can I just look at it one more time though?"

"Go on." Sirius let him down and the boy immediately went back to the bed to examine the broom from tail to tip.

8888

By the time the two of them returned downstairs, Sirius and Harry walked into a completely dark room save for the flickering birthday candles. The room immediately burst out into song. Harry and Sirius picked their way over to the coffee table where the cake had been placed. Harry laughed, getting a good look at the cake; somehow Andromeda had managed to draw his own face on the cake using icing.

"Make a wish," goaded the crowd as the singing trailed off.

Harry thought for a moment before closing his eyes and blowing out the candles. When he opened his eyes again the lights had come back on, and Sirius was calling for attention.

"Attention, attention, please! Now, this is a very solemn moment so . . . two priests, a rabbi, and a duck—"

A groan rose from around the room.

"Siri," Harry grinned as godfather ruffled his hair.

"Okay, okay," Sirius sighed, picking up his cup. "A toast to the one thing in my life that is always good, always sweet, and without whom I would have no reason to get up in the morning, my pal, Harry."

There was a chorus of "Aww-s" as Sirius dropped to one knee beside Harry.

"And now," he continued, "I invite you all to help me eat his face."

"And you may have the first cut," said Andromeda, handing Harry a serving knife.

"There is something very weird about hacking into my own head," said Harry, slicing into the cake.

"As long as you bleed chocolate I can't complain," grinned Sirius, slipping a paper plate under the slices. "Here, I got that."

As they started to pass out slices, the doorbell rang and Tonks went off to answer it. Sirius overhead her tell the person that she would see.

"Sirius, there's someone here who is asking if you're in," shouted Tonks from the corridor with a roll of her eyes.

"Whoever that is, Nymph, tell them to get their arses in here," Sirius shouted back but as the words left his lips none other than pinstripe-suit clad Orion Black moved forward into the light. "Or arse I guess."

Harry rushed passed his stunned godfather to greet Orion.

"Orion!" he shouted, astonished.

"Hello Harry," said Orion, smiling. "For half a minute I thought I had the wrong house. Everything was dark."

"No, no, it's the right house," Harry said enthusiastically. "Wait a sec, I'll introduce you to everybody." He led Orion into the living room. "Everyone!" he hollered. "This is Sirius's dad, Orion."

There was a chorus of jubilant "Hi-s!" and "Hello-s" as a buxom woman came up to Orion.

"Hello," she said warmly, extending a hand, "I'm Julianne Montgomery but everyone calls me Miss Julie. It is a pleasure to finally meet you, Mr. Black. Sirius has positively regaled us with stories of you."

"I'm sure he has," said Orion cordially, kissing her hand.

Miss Julie gave a twitter. "We all just love your son and grandson," she gushed. "I can see where they get their dashing looks. It must be all that good air in London."

"The pleasure is all mine," replied Orion.

"Come with me, Orion," said Harry. "I'll show you around and Sir'll get you a drink."

Sirius nodded, slipping out of the room.

"Now all we need is Voldemort to waltz in and things will be perfect," he said as he entered the kitchen. Remus and Andromeda looked up from the refreshment bowls they were re-filling, aghast. "My father just came, and I've already cursed in front of him twice, and Miss Julie is trying to chat him up as we speak."

Remus grinned, "And how's Harry taking it?"

"He's thrilled," Sirius sighed, running a hand through his hair.

"Well, then, why are you worried?" asked Andromeda, handing Sirius a filled bowl.

"I guess I shouldn't be, but he's never been here before."

"Never?" she asked, astonished.

Sirius shook his head. "Until two weeks ago, we barely saw each other. Once or twice he came to the Ministry when Harry was a baby, but after that we always went to Grimmauld Place."

"Oh no," she said.

"Oh yes," said Sirius, picking up one of the filled bowls. "And I totally forgot to ask him what he wanted to drink."

"You best get back out there then," said Remus with a slightly devious look in his eyes, "before you end up with a new stepmother."

"Right," sighed Sirius, picking up the bowls. "I'll be back."

After he exited, Andromeda turned to Remus, "Orion Black is in Dale. The police should be advised."

"Honestly, Harry seems to like the man well enough, so he can't be all that bad," said Remus as he filled another bowl. To Andromeda's questioning look, he said lightly, "No good comes from passing judgment on someone one hasn't met." He made to follow Sirius with his bowl.

"Wait," Andromeda said, stopping Remus. "Give them twenty seconds and he'll find the alcohol. Personally, I've seen enough of Orion Black to last a lifetime." She winked, taking the bowl from him and leaving the kitchen.

Less than a moment later, Remus heard: "Come on, Orion, you're going to need a drink and I have glasses that say "Hostel and Co." on them," said Sirius as he entered the kitchen, leading his father.

Remus Lupin did not consider himself to be the type of person to judge on first impressions, but the sheer waves of "class," for lack of a better term, coming from Sirius' father were rather hard to miss. He had seen the man before at a distance, of course, but only now had a name - and Sirius' long years of muttered comments - to go with the face. "Good to see you survived the attack," he offered dryly.

"Honestly, did someone let a circus troupe out in this town," sighed Orion, not actually looking at Remus.

"No, that's how we all are when there's cake," Sirius smirked. "Scotch or martini?"

Remus resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Once upon a time, I thought only children suffered from suger highs. And you're out of the good vodka, so I would stick to Scotch." He wondered idly if he would actually have to remind Sirius that he and Orion had never been introduced.

Orion turned and looked at Remus, sizing him up briefly. His cold eyes seemed to linger on his fraying jeans cuffs and tousled hair.

"Oh, nearly forgot, Orion this is Remus Lupin, resident best friend and sommelier."

Remus smiled with the confidence of a man perfectly used to enduring far colder looks than Orion's. "A pleasure to meet you," he said automatically, extending his hand.

Orion merely nodded. "I spoke with you a few weeks ago," he said, his voice was incredibly posh."I owe you thanks for letting me know where Sirius and Harry were."

"Oh, don't mention it." Remus let his hand drop back to his side.

Orion's gaze shifted to the kitchen itself.

As his father took in his surroundings, Sirius nudged Remus, whispering, "He's inspecting my house. Help me."

Nodding, Remus quickly removed the bottle of Scotch and glasses from his friend's hands and poured one straight, while saying to Orion, "Would you like ice?"

"No thank you," Orion said, picking at one of the appetizers. "Hmm, interesting flavor. Who made these?"

"Actually, Remus did," said Sirius, handing Orion the poured glass.

_Wonderful_, thought Remus. He was coming across as a regular housemaid. Ah, the things he suffered for friendship. Pouring the second glass, he handed it again to Sirius and fished a third out of the cabinet for himself.

"It's amazing what kind of hidden talents are discovered at parties," he said conversationally. "I recall my grandmother was absolutely unbeatable at Go Fish once she'd had more than two shots."

"I'm going to need more than that to get through this evening," muttered Orion as he picked up a bottle opener that played "God Save the Queen."

Sirius and Remus simultaneously knocked back their glasses.

"Are you three playing a drinking game?" asked Harry, coming into the kitchen. "Cause if you aren't, could you help me? Passing at cake is a little difficult with short arms."

Remus caught Sirius' eye and not for the first time thanked their well-learned silent communication. _Do you need a break or should I leave you two alone?_

Sirius nodded. _Come with me._

"You need help?" said Sirius to Harry. "A big strong eight year old like you?"

"It takes awhile to kick in," said Harry. "Come on, be a good host, Siri."

"Sounds like a difficult crisis, Sirius," Remus joked. "I hope our combined strength can handle such a cake. Excuse us, please, Orion," he added, moving to join Harry in leaving the kitchen.

"I'll join you," he said, pouring another glass and following them.

Orion secured a spot in an armchair as Sirius and Harry finished handing out slices of cake and re-filling drinks.

"Sirius," said one the neighbors Orion had yet to be introduced to. "Remember the time Harry decided that my old tree stump was a fairy ring?"

Harry instantly turned scarlet while Sirius laughed.

"Who is that?" whispered Orion to Remus.

"Kathleen Herman," Remus dropped his voice almost painfully low to murmur, "Muggle," and then added in a normal whisper, "She lives next door; her husband's in the service overseas, poor dear, so she lives practically alone with her terriers."

"Ah," said Orion shorted, sitting back.

"It matched the picture in the book," tried Harry, flopping down on the sofa.

"You did sit in front of that thing for hours waiting for something to happen," Sirius pointed out.

"It did. Duff and Gidget decided they wanted to play," said Harry, "and I had to chase them all around the garden to get my book back."

There was a round of laughter.

"Please, I'm still crushed that he never took any interest in the piano, Sirius," said Miss Julie.

"Not me," said Sirius. "Mr. Perfect Work Ethic would have been pounding the keys twenty-four seven if he did."

Remus laughed. "Sirius, you only lack respect for a good work ethic because you never found the need to develop one." He grinned, "Mostly because you copied all my notes."

"Hey I resent that!" Sirius replied. "Only in Arith--Advanced Calculus did I copy, and I really should haven never taken that class as it was."

Orion watched Sirius and his friends banter, frowning to himself. Admittedly, this party could not hold the slightest flame to the grandeur of the previous night but it seemed to be more "fun." Out of the corner of his eye, two boys rushed into the room, calling for Harry to follow them. The boy bolted after his friends, leaving the adults to talk amongst themselves.

"Do they do that often?" Orion asked to no one in particular while Remus and Sirius broke into a well-meaning banter.

"Oh? And what about Astronomy? Or Biology?" Remus didn't mention that the latter had involved notes not taken in any class, but he couldn't resist the opportunity to banter.

"I had the flu that week and you know it," countered Sirius. "Not to mention the only way you got through Chemistry is because I took pity and tutored you."

Remus grinned. "I'm sure it was a terrible ordeal," he sighed dramatically.

"Well, your beaker did blow up in my face about twelve times."

"And as a result you came up with several different brilliant pranks, I recall."

"Yes, and then we both ended up in detention," said Sirius as out of the corner of his eye he noticed Orion sneaking upstairs. "What the?" he whispered.

Remus followed Sirius' line of sight. "Oh dear. Shall I?" He set his cake down and crept quietly after the older Black. Once he reached the landing he turned to and fro, trying to locate the elder Black.

"Are you following me?" asked Orion seeming to materialize out of thin air.

Remus turned smoothly to face him. "I was concerned you were bored with the festivities."

"No, I was simply curious about where my son lives," said Orion stiffly. "In case you are unaware I have never been to this . . .," he seemed to struggle with the word, "_house_ before."

Remus' smile froze just slightly. "I would think it's rather impressive how Sirius has managed with a house and job while raising Harry on his own."

"It's small," said Orion coolly. "And rather mismatched."

"It's comfortable," Remus countered. "And it's his home, and Harry's, too."

"Exactly how long have you known my son?" asked Orion sharply, crossing his arms over his chest.

Remus blinked. "We went to school together," he replied honestly, not sure why Orion would be interested.

Orion nodded, taking a step forward. "And did he manage all of this? The Sirius I knew could barely remember to feed an owl let alone a child."

Remus' eyes narrowed slightly. "I remember that boy as well, and with great fondness. But Sirius has had many opportunities to mature since then, as you would know if you'd cared to notice."

"He kept me out of his life as much as possible for the past decade," sneered Orion. "I did not even know Sirius was caring for the boy until I happened upon them at the Ministry once. Let me just say that seeing my twenty-one year old son with an infant in his arms was not exactly a warm moment for me."

"Perhaps he kept you out of his life because you give him no reason to believe that you would do anything more than sneer at his failures," Remus replied softly. "Now you both have a chance to start again. Fulfilling his expectations might not be particularly helpful."

"Oh yes, still he's always done a splendid job of fulfilling mine. Now, you seem like a reasonable man, Lupin, but you know as well as I do that my son is not what one would call responsible or sensible. I'm sure he only got to where he is now on luck and charm."

"And I assure you, sir, that Sirius is one of the most responsible people I have the pleasure to know. I would trust him with my life, and more importantly, I trust him with Harry's." He paused, and then continued with as much honesty and confidence as he could summon in his tone, "I have personally watched your son change from a wayward student to an extraordinary and strong man. If I didn't have complete faith in Sirius' abilities - as a father, if nothing else - then I would never have allowed him to assume that responsibility."

Orion was silent for a moment, contemplating Remus. "You seem to have more faith in my son than he does himself," said Orion carefully, "in certain aspects of his life at least. You all seem to have forgotten whose Harry's real father and family is. Do you honestly think he can care for this boy when the truth finally is revealed?"

"James -" Remus paused, but only for a moment. Time could never heal that wound. "I know that Harry's parents would be proud. Harry is already an extremely bright and mature boy. I don't know what special future is in store for him, but Sirius has proven amazingly capable at handling surprising situations. And he is not alone - he has friends among the wizarding community, and allies. All I know is that he'll throw everything he has on the line for that boy, which is more than can be said of most parents."

Orion nodded. "If that is how you see things then I most likely have no chance of dissuading you. However, it is your choice when the time comes and we will all see who you stand with. Dumbledore once told me his own confidence in Sirius was unsteady at best. You owe Dumbledore a lot, I trust, being what you are. So we shall see."

With that Orion backed away into the room behind him, Sirius's.

Remus stared after him, wondering if he should follow, wondering how in hell Orion had known his secret, or Dumbledore's opinion of anything. "Well, I suppose I've made enough brilliant inlays for one evening," he mumbled miserably.

"Remus?" said Sirius, coming up behind him. "Have you been up here all this time?"

Remus' shoulders sagged. "Unfortunately," he murmured, turning around, eyes downcast. "I should be grateful at least that he already knew what I am, and thus likely had no respect for me that I may have just lost."

"Ah," said Sirius understandingly, "well, join the club. Where is he now?"

"In your room." Remus moved out of the way.

"Rats," said Sirius, snapping his fingers. "I knew I should have vacuumed in there. Okay, I'll deal with Orion; you make sure the food fight doesn't start without me. Mud wrestling is okay though."

Remus nodded. "Good luck, mate," he said before heading back downstairs.

8888

By Orion's standards it was small and messy. Though, he supposed, with the rest of the house being cleaned Sirius had not expected anyone to wander into his room. Clothes had been tossed over the squashy armchair in the corner and the bedclothes and cover were fairly rumbled. Beneath the window was a small dresser with an assortment of things strewn across it. Magazines, rolls of parchment, cups filled with Muggle writing devices, and the like.

Shaking his head, Orion turned his gaze back toward the bed and noticed something sticking out from amongst the folds of covers. Curious, he moved forward and extracted what turned out to be a worn brown leather bound book. The binding was cracked from use. He opened it and his son's handwriting greeted him. In carefully scripted letters, a single line had been written across the first page:

"_Life is just what happens to you while you're making other plans." – Lennon _

He turned the page to find the smiling faces of his son, a younger Lupin, a watery-eyed boy, Potter, and a red headed girl with Harry's eyes staring up at him. They stood together in a huddle, in mid-laughter, stationary. He examined the picture closely for a moment before realizing it was taken at their Hogwarts graduation. Orion felt his spirit drop a little despite himself, and quickly flipped the pages a bit before any more emotion could be mustered. The one he stopped at did not help matters much.

In the lower right hand corner, developed on black and white film, was an image that was much like the one at the Ministry that had made his heart nearly stop seven years ago. The lens had been positioned over his shoulder but the subjects were paying it no attention whatsoever. In the foreground was a younger Sirius. His hair was wilder but there were deep circles under his dark eyes. Clearly he had not slept well in weeks or eaten properly for—since Sirius was not wearing a shirt—one could see that his collar bone and shoulder joints were clearly visible. Yet, there was no denying that with the slight smile on his face, Sirius seemed at peace as he looked down at the small blanket-wrapped form that was resting its head against his chest. The thatch of jet black hair was unmistakable.

As Orion peered closer, the photographic child raised its head from its spot and met his eyes. It yawned, burying its head back into its godfather's chest. Sirius's photographic self turned and noticed Orion. His eyes narrowed as he drew Harry closer to him. The infant shifted his head and drew Sirius's attention back to him, causing a smile to return and the photograph to become stationary again. It was only then did Orion notice that curled around the photograph, in an exceptionally neat hand, were the words: "When day is done and night is near."

Orion tore his eyes away from the image, and turned the page. More photographs met his eyes along with words that had been scribbled in the margins in both Harry and Sirius's handwriting: song lyrics, movie quotes, funny expressions, and even bits of conversation. He became so absorbed in the stationary pictures and the commentary that he did not notice his son come into the bedroom.

"You're looking through our photo album," Sirius stated as he leaned against the door frame.

Orion looked up and whirled around to face him. "It was on top of your bed," he replied as if that was the equivalent to an invitation.

"I suppose," said Sirius, attempting to make the bed. "So what do you think?"

"What do I think of what?"

"Of the photographs, Father," Sirius sighed. "And don't say you haven't got one because I know you and you have an opinion about everything."

"I do not—"

"You once grumbled about photosynthesis and how the grass was still too spring green for July."

A slight color rose in Orion's face as he turned his attention back to the book.

"It's rather sentimental," he admitted.

"Probably, but it is a photo album. It's meant to be."

"Be that as it may, couldn't you have attempted some shred of dignity by not graffiti-ing it?"

"Then that wouldn't be me, would it?"

Orion sighed in mild frustration, glancing around the room again.

"Sirius."

"Orion?"

"How did you accomplish all this?" His father gestured to the room.

Sirius shrugged. "Well, it's a combination of Pottery Barn and—"

"Sirius, don't be cheeky," said Orion shortly. "I meant this," he gestured again, "this house, this life."

Sirius was caught off guard by Orion. He had never expected his father to inquire that far into his life. However, he resisted the urge to be sarcastic and reply, "By giving lots of old crones their last moments of pleasure." Instead, he settled for the more truthful, "I'm not really sure myself. Little by little, I guess."

"And with a child? You were only twenty-one when his parents . . ."

"I know," said Sirius meaningfully. ""It was no picnic, but once I got used to the ever popular "Daddy Black" jokes, things got easier. We managed like we always seem to, though I still haven't caught up on all my sleep."

Orion turned his back to him, walking the length of the room and glancing out of the window. "You're lucky, you realize."

"I do," Sirius consented. "Very lucky."

"And I suppose that you get tired of hearing this," he said solemnly, turning back to Sirius, "but you two are exceptionally close."

Sirius grinned. "I wouldn't have it any other way."

"When was this one taken?" Orion asked suddenly, handing the book to Sirius. In the photograph, he and Harry were stretched out on the lawn, watching the sun set.

"Oh, Harry must have been about five. Yeah, it was right after we moved here and Harry had never seen a sunset that wasn't filled with skyscrapers or aerials. I never thought a person's eyes could grow so big. It was pretty cute."

Sirius looked up, still smiling, only to see his father looking back out the window.

"Orion?"

The elder Black did not respond but continued to stare blankly onward. So this was the world that Sirius had forsaken his family and his name to be a part of? A world of strange, eccentric folk and sacrifice? Lupin had said that Sirius had become remarkably responsible, and the photographs were testament to that transformation.

"You're right," he said finally, moving towards the door.

"I was?" Sirius asked, confused.

"I do not understand you at all."

8888

With a clatter, the last stack of dirty plates was dumped into the soapy water as Sirius decided, "Next year we're just turning on the garden sprinkler and letting everyone get good and filthy. That's it."

"And then the mess won't matter as much?" asked Remus wryly, putting away the left over-s.

"And I won't have to actually clean house," said Sirius as he rolled up his sleeves and began cleaning the dishes.

"I doubt Harry'll be impressed with your lack of effort."

"Okay," said Harry, dragging a bulging trash bag into the kitchen. "Is there anyway we can work around the whole cleaning up afterwards part next year?"

"See?" said Sirius triumphantly.

"Why do I even bother? It's like betting against the United," muttered Remus. He went over and picked up the trash bag, heaving it over his shoulder. "Aren't you tired, Harry?"

Harry shrugged. "I'm alright. Besides, you need the help, don't you?"

"Actually," said Sirius through a yawn, "I think I'm just going to finish the washing and then turn in. Everything else can wait until morning."

"Really?"

"I think so," his godfather replied. "Go get ready for bed. Moony and I've got this handled."

"If you're sure," said Harry but even as he spoke he was edging towards his room.

The adults nodded and let him go, but no sooner had Sirius turned back to his task at hand did Harry call for him.

"What's up?" he asked, coming inside the room.

"Look!" Harry gasped into awe as on his desk was a glowing orb that revolved on site and threw shadow figures and glittering constellations onto the walls. "What is it?"

"There's a note beneath it," said Remus who had also come into the room.

Harry removed the slip of paper carefully at not to upset the orb. He read the long loopy writing quickly:

_Harry—_

_By the ripe old age of eight, any true Black should know his astronomy. I believe this shall help you in that endeavor. _

_Happy Birthday. _

_-- Orion _

"Isn't it brilliant?" asked Harry, handing the note to Sirius.

Sirius chuckled to himself after reading it. "Yes, I'd say so."

_You may not understand us, Orion, _he thought, _but you're still trying and that is something. _


	4. Chapter 4

A/n: Hello all! Yes, yes, I know that this chapter is horribly late and not terribly active. It's one of those necessary transition chapters that will bring us to the beginning of a secondary arch, etc. However it is a bit more humorous to compensate. Also, thanks to a lovely winter break the next chapter should be out very soon.

A HUGE THANKS to all of my readers and reviewers! Your comments really do mean the world to me.

So without further ado:

Disclaimer: This story contains characters created and owned by J.K. Rowling, Bloomsbury Publishing, Scholastic, Inc. and AOL/Time Warner, Inc., and may incorporate characters, locations and things created and/or owned by other third parties including but not Random House, Penguin Putnam, Inc., Ballantine Books, and a lot of other people. This story also contains lines inspired by episodes Two and Four of the First Season of the WB series Gilmore Girls. They are the property of Amy Sherman-Palladino and I make no claim to them. No permission has been given and since no money is being made here, no infringement is intended.

**Chapter 4: The End of Summer **

As the summer slowly slipped into its final weeks, Harry began to feel the same clinch in his stomach that any school age child did. It was the one that denoted both the end of sweet summer days and the impending drone of the school year.

The clinch first struck him near the middle of August while he was stretched out on his back across his godfather's bed. His head was dangling off of the edge, watching a late night talk show upside down on the small old black and white television that was perched on the dresser. Sirius was leaning back against the headboard, grading his recruits' first round of mid-term examinations. Every now and again, he would give a snort of disdain or an amused chuckle. Harry would sit up on occasion to stop the blood from rushing to his head but otherwise he was content.

"You'll go loopy if you keep doing that," said Sirius matter-of-factly around the fourth time Harry had sat up.

"It makes the show seem funnier though," replied Harry, flopping back down. The host was reciting his monologue about the exorbitant cost of his bowtie.

"I'm sure it does," Sirius said, putting aside the exams long enough to pull Harry fully up on to the mattress. "There, now you won't end up with a headache."

Harry sighed, sitting up. He watched as Sirius went back to the exams. It really was a pity that his godfather had to work all year long. It put such restrictions on their mutual free time that Harry saw it as his personal task to distract the Auror whenever possible.

He moved carefully up towards where Sirius was sitting. First he tried the smiling playfully trick but Sirius's gaze never shifted from the parchment he was holding. Next was the puppy-eyes route that usually earned him at least some acknowledgement.

Sirius's eyes performed the merest upwards flick but immediately went back to Ms. Velasquez's essay on the ethics of administering one of the Unforgivable Curses.

_Harry-one, Sirius-zip._

Harry then favored him with his patented adorable look.

Sirius did not look up this time but Harry knew he had his attention.

"Don't be cute," said Sirius, fighting to keep his face neutral.

"Why not?"

"It's distracting."

Harry frowned as Sirius continued grading.

"Can I help?" he offered. "I can follow a key."

Sirius raised an eyebrow. "They're essay exams, mutt."

"Essay exams? In August? That's cruel, Sirius."

"Speaking of exams," said Sirius, "we should probably go shopping for school supplies this week."

Harry froze, the smile slipping off of his face.

"So soon?"

"School starts in a fortnight," said Sirius. "And last time I checked your book bag was being held together by duct tape."

"Only that one shoulder strap."

"Also, you need a uniform this year so we might as well get that in London tomorrow."

"What about the day after tomorrow?" asked Harry.

"Have you seen the length of the list they've sent?" Sirius replied, reaching for a thick cream colored envelope that had been slit open. It bore a deep green seal with a golden B. "Apparently, this school requires you to have everything except the kitchen sink."

Harry blushed as he took it from him. He examined the papers including his acceptance letter and scholarship notice as well as the list of guidelines that would have to be upheld in order for it to be maintained.

"Yeah, I guess," he said, putting the papers down.

Harry's attention shifted back to the talk-show host who was rushing around the set after a startled chicken. Drawing his knees up to his chest and wrapping his arms around them, the boy sighed and leaned back against the pillows. With every passing minute, the school year suddenly seemed to be drawing unnervingly closer and with it new classes, new teachers, and a whole new group of kids to try and fit in with.

"Siri?" he whispered.

"Yes?" replied his godfather, looking at him.

"I wish the summer was longer."

8888

Harry stood underneath the street sign on Birch Road, staring at the shop on the opposite side. The cheery window display of apples and pencils was enough to make him want to back away. He and Sirius had been shopping all day in London, and had dealt with more over-caffeinated salespeople than either of them had ever wished to. Unfortunately, his godfather did not seem to share his feelings of discomfort.

"As if this wasn't already enough of a party," Sirius joked as he led the way across the street towards NoteCards, Dale's very own office supply shop.

Inside, the tiny building was filled to the rafters, offering everything from calculators to shredders.

"You know, we don't have to do all of this today," Harry said, pulling the supply list out of his back pocket.

"I know, but watching you obsess over pens and highlighters is more fun than watching Moony trying to use a blender."

Harry sighed good-naturedly. "I get it from you."

"Sadly. Okay, so what's left on that list of yours?"

"I need tons of pens and pencils, three highlighters, graph paper, loose-leaf, and two huge binders."

"You need three highlighters?" Sirius raised an eyebrow as Harry nodded. "Three is a rather random number, don't you think?"

"Three's not a random number," Harry replied, as they headed down an aisle.

"Yes, but how did they get to the number three?"

"One dries up, one gets lost, and I have one left."

"You have put a lot of thought into this. So which came first, the chicken or the egg?"

"I'm never bringing you shopping with me again," Harry said, picking up a pair of two-inch binders.

"Check loose-leaf off," Sirius said, handing him a packet.

Harry frowned at it.

"What's wrong?"

"It's green."

"So? Green's festive."

"I can't have green paper."

"It's also on sale."

"But I go to a serious school now," explained Harry. "I need serious paper."

Sirius could not help but grin at the absurdity of that statement. "All right," he acquiesced. "Serious paper it is."

"Thank you," Harry said, exchanging the green lined paper for white.

"Now, don't forget your reserved pencils, your somber highlighters, and your manic depressant pens," his godfather continued. "Now these erasers are on lithium so they may seem cheerful," he held up a pack of neon colored pencil topper erasers, "but they were actually caught trying to shove themselves into the pencil sharpener earlier."

"Good grief."

"After lunch, we're planning to stage an intervention with the sixty-four pack of crayons and make it give up its wacky crazy ways. Four shades of blue? How decadent!"

Harry rolled his eyes, and continued down the aisle far from his godfather.

"Oh, look a sensible silver card tray. Life is good again!"

"Sirius!"

8888

As the late summer sun was setting, Sirius was running around like a chicken with its head cut off. He was trying his best to keep within a good distance of Harry. The boy seemed determined to either accomplish standing upright on his broom or give his godfather a heart attack in the process. It did not help matters that the ground of the pasture behind Andromeda's house was nowhere near as soft as the turf at the Ministry, and Harry had a lot farther to fall.

Meanwhile, about thirty feet above the earth, Harry was zipping around the perimeter of the pasture as he learned the cornering abilities of his very own broomstick. It was more responsive than Sirius's was. The slightest touch could bring this one to a stop instead of the yank he usually had to give the vintage Nimbus. It was also much shorter, affording Harry better all over control.

He glanced downward at the black spot that was Sirius dashing to and fro. He shook his head. One day his godfather would stop keeping such a close eye on him when he flew. Until then though, Harry would humor him.

Shifting his weight, he cornered the broom early, bringing it in for a gradual dive. It slowed to about ten miles per hour, and after about a fifteen foot drop, he leveled it out and leaned low over the handle.

"Okay," he breathed, forcing his heart rate to remain even.

He braced his arms against the handle, using his upper body force to bring his legs up and under him. The broom quivered for a split-second under the new distribution of weight but settled.

Once his balance was set, Harry bit his bottom lip and—just as he had seen Sirius do countless times before—pushed himself upright.

He wavered, pushing his right foot farther back to maintain balance. Instead of standing up straight, he leaned forward a bit, letting the wind pass over his back rather than slamming directly into him.

He bent his arms at the elbow, his balance strengthening. He kept his gaze straight ahead instead of down. As he keep the broom steady, Sirius's advice came floating back to him, _"Trust your broom and trust yourself."_

Fifteen feet below, Sirius watched with wide-eyes as Harry skillfully controlled the broom. He cornered it easily, bending with the wind instead of against it. A proud smile spread across Sirius's face as Harry continued around the pasture without faltering.

"Brilliant," he breathed, not taking his eyes off of his godson. He really was a remarkable boy.

8888

Two days later, Sirius was having a wonderful dream. It was warm and sunny and the air was filled with the sounds of birds singing. He could practically smell the coconuts and exotic flowers. It had been so long since he had had a proper vacation. He sighed contently as a shapely island girl handed him a drink. Just as he was about to thank her, a voice shocked him awake.

"SIRIUS!"

"Christ, what?" he shouted, sitting up straight.

Harry stood before him, arms crossed over his chest with a scowl. Still, he did not seem harmed.

"Oh, hi, Harry," his godfather mumbled, going back to his pillow and not registering that Harry was fully dressed in the grey and hunter green of the Brilhante Academy.

"What are you doing?" demanded his godson.

"Having a heart attack," Sirius grumbled into the pillow.

"I thought you were up! It's 7:10!"

"Huh?"

"It's 7:10!" Harry shouted, yanking the pillow away from him.

"Stop it!" Sirius whined, reaching for the pillow. "It's a quarter to six. I set the clock for a quarter to six"

"Are you sure you set it for a quarter to six in the morning?" Harry asked bouncing onto his godfather's bed.

"Yes, and it's a quarter to six--"

Harry shoved the clock into his grasping hand.

His godfather looked at it for a second before shouting, "It's 7:10! Damn!"

In a single motion, Sirius leapt out of bed, looking wildly around the room.

"I can't be late on my first day! Do you know what happens to people who are late on their first day?!" Harry asked, growing increasingly frantic.

"It's shorter?" Sirius said, pulling open his drawers.

"For the rest of the year they're labeled the late kid!"

"Harry! Where's the bathroom?" Sirius asked, still disoriented. Harry pushed him the direction of his bathroom.

"What if there's traffic? I thought you had a plan!" Harry continued as Sirius bolted out of the bathroom a moment later. All he had on was a pair of pajama pants.

"I had this all planned, you know," his godfather continued to babble inanely. "I was going to get up early. I was going to get coffee. I was gonna take a shower. I was going to pick up my clothes from the dry-cleaners. Oh my god . . . my clothes. I don't have any clean clothes."

"It's 7:15," Harry muttered as Sirius started tearing through his drawers again.

"Everything was dirty."

"It's 7:16."

"You know what, time kid? Since you're so concerned, why don't you go warm up the car, huh? Thanks, that would be great." He gave Harry a little shove out of the room.

"Hurry!"

"This sucks! This sucks!" Sirius shouted, pulling on a pair of socks.

"It's 7:18!"

"Oh, for the love of God!"

Five minutes later, Harry was leaning against the staircase banister, twirling Sirius's keys around his index finger.

"It's 7:--"

"Don't even think of finishing that sentence!" Sirius shouted, jumping the last four steps." He stopped at Harry's wide-eyed look. "What?"

"Nothing," Harry said slowly. His godfather was wearing a pair of frayed denim cutoffs, a camouflage t-shirt, and black motorcycle boots. "I didn't know Hell's Angels were in town."

"All right, that's it," Sirius groaned, grabbing a picture from the mantle. "I'm bringing the baby pictures."

"No! I'm sorry! I love Hell's Angels! Hell's Angels rule!" Harry shouted, chasing after him.

As Sirius pulled out of the driveway, he had come to revelation.

"I am done with plans," he said. "I am never making one again. It never works and then I spend the whole day obsessing over why it didn't work and what I could've done differently. I analyze all my shortcomings when all I really need to be doing is vowing to never ever make a plan ever again which I'm doing now. Having, once again, been the innocent victim of my own stupid plans."

"Brilliant, now let's go!" Harry said nearly pushing Sirius's foot down on the gas.

"We're gone," said Sirius and they squealed out onto the main road.

"Finally," Harry huffed.

"God, I need coffee."

8888

Sirius pulled into a parking space on the grounds of the hundred year old, very prestigious Brilhante Academy. He could not help but lean forward and glance up at the gargoyle accented roofs.

"Siri, what are you doing?"

"Just wanted to see if there was a hunchback up in that bell tower."

"We're not in France." Harry said with a laugh. "Come on let's go," Harry said opening the door to the passenger side.

"Go where?" Sirius asked.

"You know, first day, where I'm going, school?" Harry asked in the kind of voice that one would explain things to a small child.

"No," Sirius said flatly. "Harry, I can't. I can't meet anyone who does anything in there. Especially your headmistress. I mean look at me! I look like some guy who can't get over 'Nam."

"Won't they wonder who my parent is? Who I am if you don't come?" Harry asked getting panicky.

Sirius sighed, grabbing his coat. He got out of the car just in time for two mothers to pass by and stare. "Oh, we're going to be best friends," he grumbled.

Harry just rolled his eyes. "Who cares what they think?"

Sirius could not help but smile. "Here goes nothing," he said, buttoning his coat so his interesting outfit was mostly hidden. "So where do we go?"

"How should I know?"

"Thanks for the input," Sirius said, looking around for someone to ask. A person passed and he was able to tap her shoulder. "Excuse me, but you wouldn't happen to know where the headmistress's office is?"

The woman turned, brushing her strawberry blonde hair out of her face, and smiling so that her hazel eyes sparkled. "Yes, it's in the Caldwell building, right behind you. You go inside, then immediately turn left and it's at the end of the corridor. I'm Annie Rollins, by the way. My son Owen goes to school here."

Harry suppressed the urge to moan as Sirius's patented Prince Charming smile overtook his godfather's face.

"I'm Sirius Black and this is my son, Harry," he said, shaking her hand and oozing charisma.

Annie blinked, evidently surprised. "Son? Wow, well, children are great . . ."

"We're big fans."

Harry looked from the lady's smiling face to his godfather's, trying to silently communicate his desperation for them to move on.

"So, is your wife here?" asked Annie glancing around for another woman. "I'd love to meet her."

"Oh, I'm not married," said Sirius, silently praising his single status. "I'd like to meet your husband though."

"Divorced," she replied with a shrug.

"Shame."

"Yeah." At the moment, Annie's lack of spouse was obviously not a shame.

"I'm sorry," Harry said, unable to take it any longer and tugged on Sirius's arm. "But I really have to—"

"Oh, right, we have to meet the headmistress and I have to get back to work," Sirius said, allowing himself to be pulled towards a large marble building.

"Where do you work?"

Sirius turned, freeing himself from Harry's grip. "I work for the government. In a different outfit of course," he added, remembering that most people did not walk around wearing skin-tight camouflage shirts unless they were in basic training.

"Really? Sounds fascinating."

"Dad," Harry said before they started in on another bout of flirting.

"Oh yes," Annie said, still smiling very attractively. "Well, I hope to see you again Sirius. Good luck in school Harry, I'll tell Owen to look out for you."

"Nice meeting you too," Sirius said as she walked away. "What a nice, nice girl," he whispered.

"I bet you're pretty happy with yourself, huh?" Harry asked.

"Yeah," said Sirius, more than pleased with himself.

"Would you like me to get you a mirror?"

"I'm back," Sirius said, his ego deflating in record time. "Let's go."

As they walked into the building, they were automatically overwhelmed by a wave of green jumpers, grey trousers, and plaid skirts.

"Welcome to the Twilight Zone," Sirius whispered.

Harry nodded, his voice having disappeared. He followed Sirius down the corridor, acutely aware that everyone was staring at him. He might as well be holding a neon sign that flashed "New Kid" over his head, he thought as he halted in front of a cherry wood door with a plaque declaring: Headmistress Gellstern.

"Ready?" Sirius asked.

"No," Harry breathed.

Sirius waited a second before asking, "Ready now?"

"Yes."

They entered the office.


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: This story contains characters created and owned by J.K. Rowling, Bloomsbury Publishing, Scholastic, Inc. and AOL/Time Warner, Inc., and may incorporate characters, locations and things created and/or owned by other third parties including but not Random House, Penguin Putnam, Inc., Ballantine Books, and a lot of other people. This story also contains lines inspired the WB series Gilmore Girls. They are the property of Amy Sherman-Palladino and I make no claim to them. No permission has been given and since no money is being made here, no infringement is intended.

**Chapter 5: Scholarships and Social Standings **

Abigail Gellstern liked to think of herself as a proper woman. She knew the importance of precision and valued a concentrated, polished effort. Her pristine suit jacket and pencil skirt were always pressed with perfect pelts. Her office was decorated tastefully without the slightest bit of embarrassing, cartoon-ish decals of apples or pencils. Her class lists were neatly cataloged in folders to her right, and her monogrammed pens were neatly placed in a holder to her left. She sighed inwardly at having the extraordinary bad fortune not to be right-handed and not having parents with the sense to force her to change. Therefore she had spent her life making up for that bit of commonality about her by becoming incredibly well-bred in all other areas. A dedication to order and presentation, she believed, was the crux of any moral person's upbringing and therefore instilled in every crevice of her prized school.

However, she did not have any control over her students' parents, a fact which she lamented as she looked over the tops of her spectacles at the father of her newest charge.

Though he was tall, kept decent posture, and his features were aristocratic, after he had removed his coat, upon her insistence instead of out of good manners, his dress was disappointing to say the least. While even the parents of most unsuitable applicants attempted to squeeze their ill-mannered frames into suits and tasteless dresses, this man—whose son had been awarded a full scholarship nonetheless—had the audacity to appear before her in blue jeans and a t-shirt. It took a remarkable amount of control on her part not to turn her nose up in disgust.

"Dry-cleaning," apologized Sirius weakly.

Harry resisted the urge to duck behind his godfather as his new headmistress's hawkish eyes shifted to him. He was certain that she was mentally trying to set his disorderly hair on fire.

"I see," she replied pompously. "Well, I shall not detain you further from your _work." _The word slid off of her tongue with the greatest distaste.

"Oh, er, thank you," said Sirius, feeling more awkward by the moment. He turned to Harry, smiling a little. "Good luck, pup. Have a great first day, all right?"

Harry nodded while a part of his mind pleaded for Sirius not to leave so soon.

Sirius reached forward to hug the boy but the Headmistress's icy stare upon made him stop. He suddenly remembered that public displays of affection were frowned upon by most people of Gellstern's generation. Instead, he gave Harry's shoulder a comforting squeeze while a part of his mind shouted for him not to leave his baby alone with this critical woman.

Gellstern cleared her throat slightly.

Sirius let go and was gone, leaving Harry to the mercy of the Headmistress.

"Well," began Gellstern as she resumed sitting in the high-backed leather chair behind her gleaming desk, "take a seat, Mr. Black."

Harry nodded, slipping into one of the chairs in front of the desk. He remembered to keep his hands at his sides and to look to the woman in the eye.

Gellstern peered down at her file about the boy. "Harry James _Black_," she said slowly, emphasizing the surname. "I see here that you were adopted shortly before your second birthday. Your actual surname is Potter."

"Yes," said Harry promptly, his voice thankfully not sounding nervous.

"By a Mr. Sirius Black," she continued as if she had not heard him. "What were your previous relations to Mr. Black if you don't mind me asking?"

"He's my godfather," said Harry carefully. "He's also distantly related to my biological father. He and my parents met at secondary school and became very good friends."

"Ah," said Gellstern. "Now, you live in Dale, correct?"

"Yes, but I was born in Godric's Hollow and lived with Sirius in London for a bit too."

"London?"

"Yes," said Harry, feeling like he had a bit more control over the situation now. "Sirius was living in London when my parents died so he took me in and we lived there until I was about five. Then we moved to Dale."

"I see," said Gellstern in the same condescending tone as she ran a finger along a small stack of papers. She picked on up and looked it over. "According to your teachers at Dale Primary, you are an attentive, well-spoken, and enthusiastic student. Not a lot of extracurricular activities though. No football leagues, no attending of summer camps, no art classes . . . no reception at all, in fact."

"Oh," said Harry, breaking eye-contact. He did not think that saying that he was the Department of Magical Law Enforcement's errand boy during the summers would go over well. "Well, living in a Dale is sort of an extracurricular activity. I can play football though, and . . . as for nursery school, Sirius had already taught me how to read and write by the time I was four so it seemed unnecessary."

"You call your father by his first name," Gellstern noted. It was a most unusual habit for children. "Any reason?"

Harry blinked at the non-sequitor. "Sometimes I call him "Siri"." _Brilliant Black, absolutely cor of you there. Quick, say something smart before she tosses you out! _"And, er, Scout and Jem called Atticus by his first name."

The Headmistress blinked before saying briskly. "Well then, Harry, I think you best be off to your homeroom."

"Thank you," said Harry, hurriedly getting to his feet but the Headmistress cleared her throat.

"Before you go, let me give you a bit of advice."

Harry sat back down.

"Now, I understand that you were in the top forum at Dale," said Gellstern, "but Brilhante is a very different place. In fact, I expect it to be a very different type of environment altogether. Now, you may succeed and if so you will have an illustrious future ahead of you. Or you may fail . . . which is perfectly acceptable. Failure is a part of life, child."

Harry nodded.

"But it is not tolerated at this institution," said the woman pointedly. "As a scholarship student, failure is not even a possibility for you, Mr. Black. Do I make myself quite clear?"

"Yes, Headmistress," said Harry.

"You will be in three-forty-seven, Mrs. Ganti's room," said Gellstern as she gestured to the door.

Harry nodded, thanked her, and exited as quickly as possible.

Room 347 was located on the third floor in the right-hand corridor and upon entering; Harry received his first surprise of the day. Unlike at Dale Primary where children would be bunched up in groups, recounting summer adventures, every child was already sitting quietly in his or her pre-assigned, name-tag bearing seat. Everyone was sitting silently and looked as though they had been attacked by an over-zealous iron. (Harry briefly wondered if wrinkles were against the rules at this school.) There was a glimmer of life when he entered. At least a dozen pairs of eyes shifted, examining him thoroughly.

Ducking his head a bit, Harry spied his seat immediately. Having a last name beginning with "B" often resulted in him being in the front row and here was no different. Hooking his book bag on the back of the plastic seat, he slipped into the chair and folded his hands on desktop.

About a minute passed before Harry glanced furtively to one side. His nearest neighbor was a slip of a girl with strawberry blonde hair that had been neatly plaited. She sat ramrod straight and her book bag was a nauseating shade of pale pink. Her name tag was out of his line of sight though. He leaned forward a bit but her attention shifted to him and his gaze promptly went the other way.

The door opened again and a boy with nut brown hair strutted into the room. He was not terribly tall but definitely taller than Harry. He was very angular with high cheekbones and an upturned nose. It did not take a second glance for one to realize that this boy came from money. His uniform was clearly new and seemed to be even cleaner than everyone else's as well as his leather book bag and the watch on his wrist. It was gold, glinting in the sunlight. He took a seat in the middle of the second row, and the boy behind him automatically straightened his sweater while offering a hopeful smile. The boy merely turned away as if he could not be bothered with such a person.

Shaking his head slightly, Harry looked back to the front of the room. The teacher had yet to arrive but the chalkboard already had her name written upon it in precise script: _Mrs. M. Ganti. _

It was funny how primary school teachers always insisted that their first names remained a mystery, thought Harry. All the Trainers always wrote out their full names, and most of Sirius's students alternated between calling him Trainer Black and by his given name. Sirius had told him how it was usually the same with Muggle university professors as well. When Harry had inquired further, Sirius had explained how he had taken a class or two at Cambridge to fulfill a requirement for his Auror training. Sirius hardly ever went into detail on matters concerning Harry's parents, but this admission did explain why his godfather had an oversized hooded Cambridge sweatshirt that had become Harry's over the years.

Speaking of Sirius, Harry wondered what his godfather was up to at this very moment. Probably changing into some practical clothes, he thought with a mental snicker. He was not planning on letting his godfather forget his interesting outfit for a _long _time.

Harry was shaken out of his thoughts as the door opened again, and a shrill bell signaled the start of homeroom. A woman of average height with dark hair and skin entered. She was dressed in a neat grey blouse and skirt, and carried several folders in the crook of one arm.

"Good morning," she greeted them, her accent had an Indian tinge to it but her voice was crisp. She gave the class a once over before adding, "Well, you at least look better than last term's lot."

There was smattering of giggling but it died quickly.

"Well then, let's get to the essentials, shall we?" she continued. "I am, in case you haven't guess, Mrs. Ganti and I will be presiding over your homeroom for the year. Also, I may have some of you for Advanced Sciences if you survive till fifth year. For now, however, I will be passing out your schedules and then we will have a little getting-to-know-you session." With that said, Ganti handed each person in the front a small stack of folders and instructed them to find their name and pass the rest back.

"You will find an emergency contact information sheet, kindly fill that out," said Ganti, taking her place in front of the room again. "Any incorrect information will result in you ending up here on a snow day. Next you'll find your schedule and along with your school calendar. Lastly, there's an index card that I'd you to fill out with your name, birthday, favorite subject, and favorite extracurricular. Oh, and one interesting thing you did over your summer holidays. When you're done with that, please pass them and the information sheets forward."

There was a brief scratching of pens and shuffling of paper as the paperwork was filled out and handed in.

"All right then," said Ganti, putting the information sheets down on the desk and shuffling the index cards. "Now, for these. Let me see, Huntington, Oliver."

"Present," replied a posh voice and Harry twisted in his seat to see the brown-haired boy standing.

Ganti nodded. "Why don't you tell the class your birthday and what you did this summer, Oliver?"

"My birthday is March twenty-first. This summer I visited Spain and Portugal with my mother and father," said Oliver in an almost bored tone.

"On holiday?"

"No, my father was presiding over a business deal and my mother and I were allowed to accompany him," said Oliver.

"Ah, and what does your father do?"

"My father," said Oliver, his voice practically dripping with pride, "is Clovis Huntington and is C. E. O. of Huntington Electronics."

"And your mother?"

"She assists him with planning business functions."

"Very well," said Ganti, re-shuffling the index cards. She repeating this process of questioning several more times, always asking the same questions—birthday, summer activities, parents' occupations and martial status, and if one had any siblings.

"I think we have time for one more before the bell," said Ganti after Micheles, Morgan sat back down. "Let's see . . . ah, Black, Harry."

With a bit of a start, Harry quickly stood.

"You're new to Brilhante, aren't you Mr. Black?" asked Ganti.

"Yes, ma'am," said Harry, nodding slightly.

"Where did you previously attend?" she asked.

"Dale Primary," replied Harry.

"Ah," said Ganti, her brow creasing slightly as if trying to remember whether or not she knew of that town. "Well, you know the pattern by now."

"Er, yes," said Harry, smiling a bit. "My birthday's July thirty-first and this summer I went to see the Arsenal vs. Chelsea match where Chelsea beat Arsenal two-to-one."

"Did your father go with you? Or any of your brothers or sisters?" asked Ganti.

"Er, no, I don't have any siblings," said Harry. "My godfather and my cousin came though."

"Ah, that's nice," said Ganti, smiling. "And your parents, Harry? What do they do?"

Harry felt his stomach clench for some reason. "Er," he faltered, "my . . . my godfather works for the government."

Ganti was frowning now. "That's very nice, Harry, but I asked about your parents."

Harry was quite sure that everyone was staring at him like he had seven heads, and he wished with all his might that the bell would ring.

Ganti inclined her head, her brows knitting together.

Harry shifted uneasily as words began to tumble out his mouth, "My parents . . . well, they don't do anything really . . . they're . . ."

Ganti's frown deepened as if she was beginning to consider him touched.

"They're not alive," managed Harry at last, realizing just how awful those words sounded. "I've lived with my godfather since I was a baby."

"Oh," said Ganti, not even blinking. "Well, what did they do while they were alive?"

"I don't know," Harry admitted.

"Oh," said Ganti again but this time it sounded almost disapproving. "Well, tell us about your godfather then. Is he married?"

"No," said Harry, now wishing that if the bell wouldn't ring then could the earth just swallow him whole. "It's just him and I."

"Ah," said Ganti, still frowning at Harry. "That is quite interesting, Mr. Black. It seems you have a very special home life . . . a different one but special nonetheless."

Harry nodded, feeling faintly sick now that Ganti had just uttered the two least desirable words in the English language: "different" and "special." At least if she would let him sit back down everyone would just stop staring at him.

As Ganti was reaching for her stack of index cards, the bell rang.

"Right then, we will continue this tomorrow," said Ganti. "I hope you have an enjoyable first day."

There was a flurry movement as everyone gathered their bags and filed out. Many of them continued to stare at Harry as they passed. Harry tried to disappear into the group but Ganti called to him.

"Mr. Black, a moment please."

Harry hung back. How much more humiliation was this woman going to put him through?

"Yes, Mrs. Ganti?" he said, approaching her desk.

"I was wondering if it would be possible for me to speak with your godfather soon," she said.

"Er," Harry hesitated. "Why?"

"I would just like to," Ganti replied evasively. "Perhaps tomorrow? Before homeroom?"

"I'll have to ask," said Harry, knowing full well that Sirius probably would not be able to do that. "He has to be at work by seven-forty five."

"I am perfectly willing to arrive early. Seven, tomorrow then?"

Harry bit his bottom lip as her dark eyes seemed to be boring a hole into him. "All . . . alright," he agreed. "I will tell him."

"Lovely," said Ganti. "Have a nice day, Mr. Black."

"Thank you," Harry said before leaving as quickly as poss. As he hurried down the corridor to his mathematics classroom, he wondered if the day could get any worse.

8888

In a different part of London, Sirius Black was leaning over the polished wooden counter at the Ministry Café and holding his head in his hands.

"Coffee?" asked Sue softly.

"Injected into my veins," grumbled the Auror.

"Rough morning?"

"Leo started a new school," mumbled Sirius, running a hand through his thick hair. "It's one of those pompous, prestigious places where backhander politics take place at bake sales."

"Not really your sort of thing then?" ventured the barmaid.

"Yes and no," sighed Sirius. "I mean, I'm really proud of him for getting in there but I don't know."

Sue smiled, handing him a steaming cup.

"I do know that I made a brilliant first impression," muttered Sirius before taking a sip.

Sue chuckled. "What did you do? Chat up the secretary?"

"No," muttered Sirius, "I showed up in motorcycle boots, ripped up jeans, and a t-shirt."

"What?" said Sue, leaning over the counter to see that Sirius was now dressed in his typical slacks and button-down shirt.

"This," Sirius gestured to himself, "happened after I picked up my dry cleaning."

"Oh."

"Exactly," said Sirius. "This morning I looked like something out of Easy Rider instead of someone who is put-together and responsible."

"Well," said Sue, going back to her coffee machine, "I wasn't aware that you were either of those things."

"Ha ha . . ." Sirius's sarcastic laughter died as the mirror behind the bar reflected someone that he had not intended to see today. To make matters worse, that person's image was growing larger.

"Sirius," said Orion crisply, "I was told that I would find you down here."

"It's where they keep the coffee," replied Sirius, swiveling on the stool to face his father.

"So I see," said Orion, waving his wand over the empty seat next to his son to remove the dust and whatever else was there. He then sat down, clearing his throat.

"Hello," said Sue brightly, "what can I—"

"Earl Grey with lemon," ordered Orion.

Sue glanced sideways at Sirius before going off to brew the tea.

"What brings you here, Orion?" asked Sirius, suspicious.

"I had some business to attend to," said Orion.

"Oh, what sort of business?" inquired Sirius. As the head of one the oldest pureblood families, Orion kept a hand various political and business ventures, and his son had come to regard his presence at the Ministry as a marker for change.

Orion ignored his question, responding with, "I see your shadow is missing today."

"He's at school," Sirius replied.

"First day?"

"Yes," replied Sirius, wondering where his father was going with this line of conversation.

"When does he finish?" asked Orion as his tea floated to him on a tray.

"At three."

"Are you collecting him?"

"Er, yes," frowned Sirius. "Today at least."

"Only today?" Orion said, stirring the tea. "How else will he be getting home?"

"He'll be taking the bus," said Sirius.

Orion looked up sharply. "The Muggle bus?"

Sirius nodded. "He has a school pass so—"

"Aren't you aware of the types of people that ride those things?" said Orion sharply. "The type of filth What if the boy is propositioned?"

"That's not allowed during school hours," said Sirius briskly, digging a sickle out of his back pocket and flipping it onto the countertop. "Now, if you'll excuse me."

He started to get up but Orion caught him by the upper arm.

"Sirius, wait just a moment," said Orion, practically forcing the taller man back down. "Now, I know that his school is only a few blocks from Grimmauld Place. If you would like, Leo is more than welcome to remain there until you are able to collect him."

Sirius frowned. "Are you seriously offering to look after an eight-year old for two hours almost every day?"

"Well, yes," said Orion. "It would save you a lot of worry, wouldn't it?"

"Were you visited by three spirits last night or something?" asked Sirius, narrowing his eyes.

"I don't believe so," said Orion, blinking at his son. "I am simply offering. After all, the boy is practically my grand—"

"That is quite unnecessary," interrupted Sirius with a scowl. "He will be fine on the bus. Now, I really must be going. I will see you on Friday."

With that, Sirius wrenched his arm free of Orion's grip and headed for the lift. As he stepped into it, he glanced behind him at Orion who was still sipping his tea. He could not help but wonder for what felt like the thousandth time why the bloody hell did Orion suddenly care so much about them.

8888

The day needed to be over, thought Harry as he shuffled down the second floor corridor. So far he had accumulated about a hundred pages of reading, already had had two tests announced, and honestly couldn't make hide or hair out of Box-and-Whisker plots.

Next was History though. Harry had always liked History. It was simply a story with very sparsely drawn characters. Stories he understood. Nothing could ever trip him up in History. Yes, this class would be just—

Suddenly the tiled floor was rushing up to meet him as he threw out his hands to stop himself. Papers went flying; his glasses sailed off of his face and went skittering away.

There was a burst of laughter above him as Harry pushed himself up into a sitting position. He felt around for his glasses, shaking his head. Finding them, Harry shoved the glasses onto his nose and looked up in time to see a trio of boys swaggering away. One glance at the leather book bag and he knew who had tripped him.

"Thanks," grumbled Harry, gathering his papers up as the bell rang. He managed to scoop everything up in his arms and dash into the classroom just as the teacher was calling roll.

"Black, Harry?" the teacher asked, turning to him. Her appearance reminded Harry strongly of a disturbed vulture—sharp, short-tempered, and calculating.

"Yes ma'am," said Harry, stepping forward.

The teacher regarded him for a moment, her eyes lingering on the mess of papers in his arms. Her eyes then flicked up to his unruly hair then back down to his black-rimmed glasses and not tightly tucked shirt.

"Right there," she said, indicating the seat just to the right of her desk. "You look like you need to be kept an eye on."

Harry moved to his seat, shocked. Had this teacher just insinuated that he was a trouble-maker? He? Harry? Good grief.

The boy slumped in the seat as he watched the rest of his class have their seats assigned. He could not help but cringe as Huntington, Oliver was seated diagonally across from him.

From the piqued expression plastered across Huntington's face as he strode by, Harry gathered that he wasn't pleased with the teacher's decision either.

When the teacher had finished, she introduced herself as Ms. Ness and began outlining the term the children had ahead of them. Over the course of the year, she would be focusing on Western history dating from Ancient Greece to the beginnings of the Enlightenment.

"Unlike some teachers, I will not be checking your notebooks to see if you are keeping up with the work. I expect it of you and any lack of attention will be on your own head," said Ness, standing in front of her desk. "I am your teacher, not your nanny, so kindly keep your problem outside of my classroom. Any signs of trouble-making will be dealt with severely. Do not test me because you will regret it." She cast a look to certain students, Harry included. "As for my grading policies, your marks will be based on monthly tests and bi-weekly quizzes. Throughout of the term you will also be expected to write a paper of intelligent content for me. On occasion, I will present what I like to call challenge questions to the class and those who are daring enough to answer them and answer them well will be justly rewarded. That being said," she reached behind herself, picked up a small brown book from the desk, and opened it to a marked page, "who can supply me with any historical context for this verse:

"_The lion and the unicorn were fighting for the crown_

_the lion beat the unicorn all around the town. _

_Some gave them white bread, some gave them brown, _

_Some gave them plum cake and drummed them out of town." _

At the very first line, Harry knew precisely what it was—he had been read the verse no less than twenty times—and his hand shot into the air. However he was not called upon because a pompous voice spoke up:

"It's by Lewis Carroll, and it's about the Royal Coat of Arms."

"Proceed, Mr. Huntington," said Ness, nodding to the boy.

"It can be found in _Alice's Adventures in Wonderland," _said Huntington. "He was referring to the Lion and a Unicorn on the UK's Royal Coat of Arms. The Lion is England and the Unicorn is Scotland."

Ness favored the boy with a thin smile. "You have earned yourself a bonus point, Mr. Huntington, for an almost entirely correct answer." She turned her attention to the rest of the class. "Can anyone expand upon Mr. Huntington's analysis? Mr. Black, you have something to add?"

"Yes," said Harry, putting his hand down. "Lewis wasn't only referring to England and Scotland as countries. He was also referring to King James the First and how when he took the English throne in 1603, he was already the King James the Sixth of Scotland. By ascending both thrones, James actually united England and Scotland hence the United Kingdom. Oh, and it's not found in _Alice's Adventures in Wonderland, _it's actually in _Through the Looking-Glass._"

Ness's smile broadened. "Excellent, Mr. Black," she said. "You have earned yourself two bonus points for a completely correct answer."

Harry smiled, sneaking a glance over at Huntington. The boy's pale, proper face was now twisted into a scowl.

The bell rang a minute later, and the usual bolting for the door occurred. Harry joined the fray this time, relieved not to be called aside for a formal welcome to the school or any inquiries into his personal life this time. He had barely left the room when a voice rang out:

"Black."

Harry stopped short. He turned around to see who had called his name but immediately whirled back to his previous direction.

"Stop," ordered Huntington as he caught up to Harry. He stepped in front of him, blocking his path. "Didn't you hear me, I said stop."

"I don't take orders," said Harry, clutching his textbook to his chest.

"You have no idea what you're dealing with, do you?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Huntington, Oliver," he replied. "You're in practically every class with me and my homeroom. Your dad's in electronics, and by the way you strut around here I take it he's probably a big deal, right?"

"Right," said Huntington, his lip curling upwards. "I bet you think you're awfully clever, don't you? After what you pulled in there, I mean."

"I answered a question," said Harry simply. "Just because you cou—"

"You're new so I will let it slide this time," interrupted Huntington, stepping forward. He was a bit taller than Harry and chose to exploit the fact. "But keep this in mind: my parents are on more than ten committees including the Board of Governors, and Gellstern comes to my family's house regularly for tea. So if you want to get through here with your face in tact, do not get in my way."

Harry was sorely tempted to point out that Huntington had gotten physically in his way, but decided against it. He nodded instead.

"Good," said Huntington, stepping away. He turned but remembered to add over his shoulder, "See you around, fatherless freak."

8888

Twirling his key ring around his index finger idly, Sirius leaned against the side of the Jeep. He was waiting for Harry to emerge from the stone buildings of Brilhante. The bell was due to ring in less than a minute and he silently ticked off the seconds.

_Thirty. _

_Twenty. _

_Ten. _

The peal of the bell echoed across the grounds and the doors were flung open by a wave of hunter green and grey that descended upon the courtyard. Some rushed towards buses, other towards cars. Sirius scanned the crowd for the familiar shock of jet-black hair.

A flash of red and Sirius saw him. With two thick textbooks in his arms and his shirt tails already un-tucked, Harry was trying to battle his way through the crowd to his godfather. Once he was finally free, the boy raced the rest of the distance, dropping the books and bag in order to fling himself into the waiting arms.

"Hey," said Sirius, a little surprised at such an enthusiastic greeting. He had dropped to one knee so that he could hug Harry properly but when he pulled away to look him in the eye, his godson's grip tightened around his neck.

"Okay, good now," said Harry after a moment, letting go slightly.

"How was your day?" Sirius asked.

"This morning was the high point," muttered Harry.

"Oh," said his godfather, leaning back. "What happened?"

"Let's just say that I seriously considered shoving my finger in a light socket," said Harry. He turned, going to collect the abandoned textbooks as Sirius reached for the book bag.

"Whoa," he grunted, yanking the bag up. "What do you have in here?"

"My homework," said Harry.

"For the month?"

"For the night," corrected the boy as he scrambled into the passenger side of the Jeep.

Sirius chucked the bag into the back before climbing into the driver's seat. "Do they expect you to become brilliant all in one day?"

"They expect a lot of things," grumbled Harry.

"Like?" Sirius prompted as the car started.

"Like," said Harry, figuring that it was best to get the worst bits out of the way, "one of the teacher's thinks that I'm a trouble-maker."

Sirius snorted. "Wonder where she got that from."

"Sirius," groaned the boy.

"Well, I'm sure she'll realize that you are a little angel soon enough," conceded Sirius. "Unless she already knows that you're a horrible morning person and is reading further into that."

"Ha, ha," said Harry, not amused. "Oh, and then there's my homeroom teacher."

"Very strict?"

"Er, not exactly," said Harry, shifting uncomfortably. He waited until they were at a stop light before adding, "But she wants to meet with you first thing tomorrow morning."

"What?!" Sirius exclaimed. "Harry, what could you have possibly done in—"

"I didn't do anything," Harry said, his eyes widening at the accusation. "She made us all do this stupid ice breaker thing and she asked about everyone's parents."

"Oh," said Sirius, his tone instantly softening. "And this happened first thing?"

"And when I tried to explain how I lived with you, she wouldn't let it drop so I had to tell her about my parents," continued Harry. "She tried to get me to tell her how they died but I claimed that I didn't know because how am I supposed to explain that a murdering lunatic killed them and I have a scar on my forehead because he couldn't kill me and—"

"Easy, pup," said Sirius, reaching over to put a hand on Harry's shoulder. "You did the right thing."

"Thanks," said Harry after taking a breath. "So finally, after playing dumb a bit, she finally laid off but . . ." His stomach clenched painfully as Huntington's insult came surging back to him. He looked away from Sirius.

"But?"

Harry shifted uneasily, trying to will away the pain.

"Harry?"

The boy glanced up at his godfather, muttering, "She called us "special" and "different."

Sirius winched. Even when he was young, using words like those to describe anyone's family was akin to placing a target on their backs and letting the rest of the class have a field day.

"Then after completely humiliating me, she asked if you would speak with her tomorrow. She didn't say why but just kept pushing the idea."

"I can take a guess or two at her motives," Sirius said, gripping the steering wheel a little more tightly. The teacher probably wanted to make sure that he was not an alcoholic or a madman like the rest of the world who thought that the act of a single man raising a child would only ever be committed with ulterior motives in mind.

"You will go and speak with her, won't you?" asked Harry.

His godfather nodded. "Of course I will. We'll get this whole matter sorted out, don't worry."

For the first time all day, Harry truly smiled. He relaxed back into the seat, having complete faith in Sirius's abilities to right all the wrongs in his world. He began to doze.

"Anything even mildly good happen today?" ventured Sirius after a bit of comfortable silence.

Harry's eyelids fluttered. "Oh, yeah," he said, straightening. "I think I really impressed my History teacher."

"Really?"

"Yeah, she asked if anyone knew the significance of a verse and it turned out to be "The Lion and the Unicorn."

Sirius laughed. He had read Harry _Through the Looking-Glass _so many times over the years that he was certain that both of them could recite more than half of it from memory.

"I raised my hand but she couldn't call on me because this utter pain called Oliver Huntington spoke up. She didn't even call him on it because his parents are this huge deal, I guess, but all he could come up with was the Coat of Arms. He even thought that the poem was in _Wonderland_."

"Harry," Sirius said in slightly warning tone. When it came to literature, he knew that his godson had a tendency to act like a bit of a know-it-all, and that sort of behavior rarely won over friends.

"Oh, sorry," said Harry, catching the hint. "But he is really stuck up so he deserved it. He walks around school like he owns the place and expects everyone to bow down to him or something."

"Even so," said Sirius, "it's best if you mind yourself for a bit. Make a good impression and all that."

"I will," sighed Harry. "But this was the teacher who thought that I was a trouble-maker at first and now, after I explained all about James the First, I think she likes me."

"Well, that's good," said his godfather though the man did not sound completely pleased with the boy.

"How was your day?" asked Harry, changing the subject.

It was Sirius's turn to groan. "Orion showed up at the Ministry."

"What? Why?"

"Well," said Sirius who was still trying to personally wrap his mind around the encounter, "he wanted to know how you would be getting home from school."

"Bus," supplied Harry.

"Right but when I told him, he became very concerned and offered to look after you at Grimmauld Place until I finished work."

"What?" gasped Harry, his eyebrows shooting upwards. "Two hours, everyday, avoiding Kreacher and that portrait? What was Orion thinking?"

"I haven't the foggiest," said Sirius.

"Plus, you can Apparate to work now so there's no reason to take the Jeep. If you had to bring me home everyday, we'd be spending a fortune on petrol."

"Right," agreed Sirius, smiling. Sometimes Harry's common sense really did surprise him.

"Unless Orion's suddenly willing to pay for that too," grinned Harry. "It'll be like having a credit card."

Sirius chuckled, taking a playful swipe at his godson. "Quiet you or I'll call Orion tonight and agree to the whole "Watch Harry" thing."

"No!" laughed Harry and as he did so the ache in the pit of his stomach intensified.

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Putting down the grading quill, Sirius rubbed his eyes with both hands, massaging the exhaustion out of them. He then stretched his arms over his head as he leaned back in the wooden chair. A small yawn escaped his lips. He glanced lazily over at the stove clock, its green digits blinking the late hour. After taking a sip of coffee, which had grown cold by now, he got to his feet. He rotated his neck, hearing it crack from being bent over in the same position for the past several hours.

Doing so caused him to notice the small pile of dishes in the sink and he sighed. Now that he had acknowledged their presence they would have to be washed.

Grudgingly, he turned on the faucet and soaped up a sponge. Sometimes it was frustrating to think that once upon a time he could just wave his wand and any and all food residue would be scrubbed away for him. Of course, the last time he had been able to do that had been seven years ago and now his hands were quite accustomed to dishwater.

If only it could be next week and Harry's turn to do the washing up, he mused with a bit of a smile. Sirius would admit that he had acquired a wide range of domestic skills over the years but he would also add that he did not enjoy all of them. Scrapping plates definitely was one of them . . . probably because he used to do so a million times a day when he worked as a waiter.

While rinsing the last cup, Sirius glanced across the room at the adjacent bedroom door. A sliver of light still could be seen along the bottom of it. Shaking his head, he turned off the water, left the cup on the draining board, and went to remind Harry that it was far past his bedtime.

Opening the door, Sirius found the reminder to be unnecessary. Harry was already curled underneath covers, his head half resting on his pillow and on his History textbook, and very much asleep.

"What am I going to do with you, pup?" muttered Sirius to himself as he crossed the room.

Gently, he lifted the sleeping boy's head with one hand, and slipping the book away with the other. After returning Harry's head to it pillow, he laid bulky textbook face down on the nightstand so that it would not lose its place. He then removed the boy's glasses which had slipped to the very tip of his nose. For the amount of times that Harry had fallen asleep with his glasses on it was miracle that they had never been squashed.

As he wiped away a smudge on one of the lenses with the edge of his t-shirt, Sirius's thoughts flittered back to when they had arrived home. Harry had immediately retreated to his room to begin his homework but when it came time for dinner, the boy had remained uncharacteristically quiet. Every time he smiled at something funny Sirius said it had seemed strained. At the time Sirius had figured that Harry was probably just tired from school and nervous about tomorrow's meeting with the homeroom teacher.

But now, as he watched the boy sleep, he wondered if his assumptions had been correct. Something did not feel quite right to Sirius. Still, if anything had gone very wrong Harry would have told him, wouldn't he? Shaking his head again, he reached forward to brush away the fringe from his godson's eyes when the boy rolled over, an arm flinging out against something.

"Harry," he whispered, leaning over his godson.

Creases had formed in the boy's forehead as he buried the right side of his face into the white linen pillowcase. Sirius laid the back of his hand against the boy's upturned cheek, rubbing it carefully. After a moment, Harry's face relaxed and he remained asleep.

Sirius felt his heartbeat returning to normal. He did not even realize that it had sped up in the first place.

"Get a grip on yourself, Padfoot," he mumbled, letting his hand fall away from the boy's face. "Sweet dreams, pup," he whispered before reaching over and turning out the bedside lamp.

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A/N: Okay, guys, so this chapter was nice and long, and continued to lay a lot of groundwork. I'm curious to know what you thought of the last bit, actually. I wasn't sure how I wanted to end this chapter, and that bit sort of came out. I hope it works.

Also, I know Harry may have come off as a bit of a know-it-all here than he does in canon but he was raised in a very different environment here. He was exposed to a lot literature at a very early age thanks to Sirius. Now, I know most people characterize Sirius as never having picked up a book in his life but to be honest, I always thought that as sort of ridiculous. Sirius is, by and large, an escapist and growing up in a stifling household like Grimmauld Place would have probably led him to rely on books as a way out of his current situation. He employs the same sort of tactics while he is raising Harry, if it helps the boy think less about the problems in his life by having him escape in literature then by all means he will hence why Harry's a bit of a literature buff.

Okay, justification over! As always, reviews are much appreciated, and once I figure out how to reply properly to them, replies will be forthcoming.

Love ya lots and thanks again for reading!


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